Death Becomes Her
by smithsbabe65
Summary: Sylaire. AU Takes place after the Costa Verde explosion. Spoilers for S3 episode "I Am Become Death". Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions. And God help her, she better have the answers. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for monetary gain.

And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

**Chapter One**

_Gabriel Gray - Costa Verde, California – 16 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion_

As I wander through the scorched landscape of the once vibrant suburban community, I barely register the devastation that surrounds me. Devastation, mind you, that I was wholly responsible for.

But right now I don't give a flying fuck.

The fires, remnants of the nuclear fallout, still burn bright and hot, as acrid black smoke billows up to the sky, obliterating the sun.

Strangely, the heat from the flames leaves me cold. And the lethal fumes threatening to pollute my lungs have failed to overpower me.

I'm numb, oblivious and apathetic to the apocalypse that utter rage has rendered. My rage- brought on by the death my son, my Noah.

His loss, still stinging and fresh, has branded my mind and soul with terrible yawning gouges. The damage is as real as it gets although my newly regenerated body shows evidence to the contrary. Its affects are nonetheless unfathomable and agonizing.

Pain and grief had culminated into a detonation so massive, so deadly it annihilated sunny Costa Verde killing thousands in the process. Ironically, the nameless dead were the fortunate ones. It's over for them. No more suffering, no more trying to live day to day on borrowed time fighting the inevitability of their pitiful mortality. Costa Verde's good citizens were annihilated in seconds, wiped off the map thanks to a brilliant flash of light.

Had I meant to commit mass genocide? Probably not... but it doesn't matter now.

The way I see it, the dead are the lucky ones. How envy them.

Good fortune has never been a commodity I've reveled in for very long. Yes, I've had my moments of providence.

But today Lady Luck, it seems, is on PMS and she fucking hates my guts.

The fact that I'm still alive and somewhat whole, only serves as a reminder of _another_ cruel bitch and the shared ability that has condemned us both to live forever in the aftermath of today's harrowing events.

_Everything_ I've worked so hard to achieve- conquering my demons, gaining acceptance, getting married and eventually having Noah.

It's gone, all gone.

And as I blearily continue to survey the substantiation of my grief-stricken wrath I can't help the indifference I feel for the destruction.

What do the lives of hundreds, or thousands of people mean to me when the only person that mattered is dead?

Noah Gabriel Gray is _dead_. And I have his mother to thank for it.

_The Cheerleader giveth and then taketh away_, I think sardonically to myself.

My eyes weary and bloodshot fill with tears I refuse to shed. I can't, I won't mourn, not yet. Not until I've doled out a little payback to the one I hold most responsible for Noah's untimely demise. Only after my hands are stained in _her _blood will I allow myself to experience the full force of my grief and lament.

That green-eyed bitch will _burn_ for what she did to Noah. I'll make sure of it. And as she screams to her death she'll only have herself to blame.

It wasn't enough that she broke my heart when she left me high and dry with an infant to raise. She just had to come back to finish the job by snuffing out _any_ chance I had at a normal life.

_Sure why not? Go ahead rip what was left of my humanity as well, you fucking cunt!_

Thanks to her, Gabriel Gray, dutiful husband to Claire, doting father to Noah and law abiding citizen, is no more.

There's only Sylar now and the Hunger.

My old friend, the insatiable, voracious Hunger, gnaws away at my insides, like some wild raving thing. All at once my lips twist into the parody of a smile as I take heed of its call for blood. And for the first time in years I call forth one my dormant abilities. Brilliant blue streaks of electricity start to dance across my fingertips as a familiar hum fills my ears. I can feel the power surging through me, fueling my fixated desire to avenge my boy.

With a new sense of purpose, I square my shoulders, narrow my eyes and set my jaw. Determined to leave this place, there's only one destination I have in mind.

Weighing my options, I conclude that flying is the best mode of travel. But first things first, I have to find some sort of clothing. I can't just take to the sky, propelling my naked body through the air like some _freak_. So with that in mind I begin my quest, walking with the confident steps of predator setting forth to hunt down its prey.

As I slowly start to make my way out of ground zero I pay no heed to the acid rain that's begun to fall. I can actually feel the warm droplets of toxic liquid rhythmically pelt the pale skin of my bare form as I continue to move forward.

Soon I'm soaked and shivering but I don't look back, there's no need. Not anymore. The blackened acres of barren earth are now a desolate grave yard.

And if I have my way, Pinehearst will soon be too.

_TBC…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone who's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

**Chapter Two**

_Claire Bennett – Pinehearst Facility, New York -22 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion_

The President of the United States, and my biological father, Nathan Petrelli has been assassinated – murdered by the very man I was trying to stop.

And as a result of this most heinous of crimes, chaos has erupted all around me.

Things were bad enough when every news and media outlet flooded with reports of the _Costa Verde Incident_, as it's now being called.

But when word got out that the leader of the free world had fallen as well, anarchy quickly spread like an infectious disease. Unfortunately, Pinehearst was not immune and was soon consumed by madness.

_I_ was supposed to prevent this very thing from happening. I was supposed to _fix_ everything. By killing my dear Uncle Peter, thousands of people would have been spared, maybe millions. And the world, grateful and clueless would be beholden to me, Claire Bennett, savior and hero.

Boy was I wrong, _dead _wrong

I hadn't counted on the fact that Petey's doppelganger, fresh from the not-too-distant past, would trample on every butterfly he could.

Fucking time travelers, why can't they leave well enough alone?

And then of course _Mr. Wonderful_, after creating the biggest cluster-fuck of the century, popped back to his own time, leaving me to clean up the mess.

_Typical Peter_, I scoff to myself. He's always lacked the stones to face the consequences of his own actions - just like his older-but-not-wiser counterpart.

And with Nathan now gone, the task has fallen to me to restore some semblance of order.

So I stalk the corridors, with weapon drawn, as my eyes search every office for signs of Rene, the Haitian. I need him to help me or I'll be totally fucked.

My painted red lips contort into a grimace when my ears are suddenly assailed by the screams of the panicked masses which comprise the staff of Pinehearst.

Dazed, confused and half out of their minds with fear, throngs of people clamor down crowded stairwells and elevators as the sound of their thunderous footfalls reverberate off the walls. Desperation permeates from their every pore as they seek salvation from the catastrophe _yet_ to come. They know that what happened in Costa Verde was my fault. And they also know who's coming after me to extract his pound of flesh.

I just had to go and poke a bear with a stick, didn't I? Smart, Claire, real smart.

With a defeated sigh, my shoulders slump with the realization that it's too late to stave off the bedlam.

My survivor's instinct tells me I should follow suit and get the hell out of Dodge while I still can. But there's too much of Noah Bennett still left in me to run away from a fight.

So I find myself besieged, going in the opposite direction of the mass exodus instead.

Besides, there's nowhere left to go. This is where I have to stay. It's here where I have to make my last stand, win or lose.

I know _he's_ coming for me and I have to be ready to face him once and for all.

_Vengeance, thy name is Sylar_.

And if I know my ex-husband as well I do, he won't hesitate for a second to mete out his reprisal. His wrath against me will be of Biblical proportions, very Old Testament. In some ways I can't say that blame him. If I had just stayed away and waited Peter out, then maybe, just maybe things would have gone down differently. Noah could've…no, I can't think about _him_ right now. I refuse to go down that road. I don't have time to give in to regrets or what if's.

I need to keep my wits about me, my senses need to be razor sharp or I won't survive the night. A mother's grief will have to wait - survival has to come first.

Cautiously, with gun still in hand, I round the corner to the passageway leading to the labs. Or what I've affectionately dubbed as the_ dungeon._ I'm still looking for my dad's old partner, but there's no sign of the elusive Haitian.

"Where in the _hell_ is Rene?" I ask no one in particular, my evident frustration mounting with each passing minute. My only reply is the deathly silence that's descended and now surrounds me since Pinehearst's occupants cut tail and ran for the hills.

I'm trying really hard to keep myself together although I can't seem to manage it.

Not this time.

I'm a _killer_, a corporate assassin for Christ's sake! And I'm good at what I do, _the best_. I fear nothing or no one.

I guess when you live with the knowledge that you'll never die, you kind of say "fuck it" and throw yourself into the face of danger. I blame my upbringing for my caviler outlook – too many years of sitting on the sidelines being protected like some fragile porcelain doll. I always wanted to be in thick of things, you know? But I was always told that I needed to stay out of the way, for my own good, to keep me safe.

What a crock of shit!

What was the point in protecting someone that's immortal anyway? It was _the_ question I posed to my adoptive parents, time and time again. As well-meaning as Noah and Sandra Bennett had tried to be, they never did get me very well.

Besides, I had to learn the hard way that no matter what happens self-reliance is the name of the game. Family and friends only disappoint. You can't count on anyone- not clueless parents, Machiavellian grandmothers, pot head brothers, or treacherous lovers.

The only thing I trust is the cold hard steel of my .38 and the ability not feel anything at all.

That's me, Claire Bennett, undying, frigid bitch-on-wheels with an aim so deadly, so accurate, I can shoot the wings off a fly from twenty paces.

Aside from my lethal marksmanship, I know a thing or two about mortal combat. Jujitsu, Tae Kwan Do, Krav Maga, you name 'em, I know 'em. I can kick ass in just about any fighting style thrown at me. Men, twice my size, have pissed their pants at the mere mention of my name. I've taken out heads of state, interrogated and tortured dozens of terrorist dirt bags without even batting an eyelash.

I'm the epitome of a stone-cold bad ass.

Why then does it feel like my hard-earned reputation is on the line here?

My nerves are frazzled beyond belief as sweaty palms struggle to prevent my gun from slipping out of shaking hands.

"Don't panic, Bennett. Not now when there's so much at stake," I admonish myself in a harsh whisper.

It seems like hours have gone by. I've searched every available space the offices and labs have to offer and Rene's whereabouts still remain a mystery.

My heart hammers in my chest making every intake of breath shallow and erratic as dread grows and hope dies.

Then unexpectedly, out of the corner of my right eye, I discern a flash of movement. With my weapon pointed straight out in front of me, I pivot gracefully to ward off the object that's now hurtling towards me.

An audible gasp escapes past my parted lips as unbelieving eyes behold the ghastly sight displayed before me.

"Oh, dear Jesus!" I exclaim loudly as the frosty chill of foreboding creeps up my spine.

There, bound and gagged with duct tape, sits Rene on an office chair. His now dead eyes stare out at me, grotesquely bugged out in an expression of terror.

He's covered in blood from head to toe. His face and body are saturated and dripping with crimson as if someone had dipped him in a vat of gore.

What was done to him was _monstrous_. And I should know, since I'm no stranger in the dispensation of pain and suffering. But even I couldn't be capable of such an act.

My body immediately becomes rigid as all of my senses are thrown into high alert. The grip on my gun tightens as I try to tear my gaze away from the macabre spectacle.

That is until my wary gaze at last distinguishes what I was actually meant to see: Rene's once gleaming bald head is sans a scalp with his molested brain exposed.

This can only mean one thing… Sylar is already here.

Mere moments later my worst fears are confirmed when I feel the weight of ice cold hands brutally clamp down onto my shoulders. Next, the overpowering awareness of immobilization takes hold as I helplessly watch the gun fly out of my hands.

The small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end the instant his hot breath tickles my skin as he viciously tugs my body towards his.

"Hello Claire, miss me?" The sound of Sylar's voice is unmistakable - husky and deep with a twinge of malice.

Slowly I close my eyes refusing to answer him. I won't give the bastard the satisfaction. I decide the best course of action is to keep my trap shut until I can figure a way out of this nightmare.

The front of his body is now tightly pressed into the back of mine and I'm briefly reminded of how good this used to feel. The reminiscing ends when Sylar's words pierce through the silence.

"What's the matter, baby? Cat got your tongue? That's alright. I'll do the talking for both of us. As you can see, you're a little too late to save your friend. It's okay though since I was able to salvage that _wonderful_ ability of his."

_Sick fuck_, I think to myself as fear gives way to anger. I can hear the twisted joy Sylar is feeling as he slowly reveals his plans for me.

"I can't wait to get reacquainted with you again, Claire-Bear. It's been so long. Four years, right? I want to explore _every_ inch of you, rediscover all of your most…_sensitive_ spots." I gasp as I feel him yank me closer to him, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of my bared shoulders, while his wet hot tongue leisurely licks the side of my face. His tone is smooth as silk, seductive yet dangerous. I know better though – it isn't lust that's driving him, it's retaliation.

Disgusted by his attempts to unnerve me I elect to break my vow of silence. "Look _asshole_, enough with the small talk. We both know why you're here. So cut the bullshit and let's get this over with, shall we?"

A deep chuckle erupts from his throat- he's obviously amused by my false bravado. My body starts to quiver involuntarily the moment Sylar begins to stroke his long strong fingers up and down the sides of my arms and body. As he deliberately turns me to face him, I make certain that my revulsion at his touch is on full display.

Undeterred by my obvious repugnance, Sylar continues his ministrations as his dark gaze falls across my hardened expression. My green orbs scathingly watch as a shark-like grin splits the hard line of his mouth.

"My, my Claire…a little anxious, aren't we?" Don't worry, princess," he softly coos, his tone laced with false reassurances. In the blink of an eye, I watched in horror as Sylar's twisted grin transforms into a visage of pure hate and rage.

When he opens his mouth to speak again, I feebly think, _here it comes, my_ _death_ _decree_.

"Why rush this little reunion of ours?" he continues in that irritatingly amiable _Mr. Rogers_ tenor. "We have all the time in the world, right?" Quickly, his unfathomable eyes steal a glance over at poor Rene, making his intentions perfectly clear.

Shockingly, I wince with the realization of new-found discomfort when Sylar suddenly reaches out to grip my upper arms to pull me to him. "Well, to be totally honest, _I _have all the time I need to make you _feel_ every- blessed- measure of the _pain_ you caused me! And thanks to the dearly departed Haitian, by the time I'm done with you, baby, you'll be _begging_ me to kill you! Won't that be nice?"

_TBC…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

I also wanted to dedicate this chapter to my brother…this one's for you, Miguel.

**Chapter Three**

_Gabriel "Sylar" Gray – The Pinehearst laboratories _

"…And thanks to the dearly departed Haitian, by the time I'm done with you, baby, you'll be _begging_ me to kill you! Won't that be nice?"

The echo of my words still linger, contaminating the air between us like a pestilence. I watch with devilish delight, basking in the conflagration of Claire's verdant stare, as she reacts to my proclamation of pain.

Those emerald orbs, which at one time encompassed my salvation, only look upon me now with pure abhorrence. As for me, my single-minded and unwavering desire is to extinguish that insolent glint in her gaze – permanently.

_How did we ever get to this point?_

lllll

Four years ago, I was head-over-heels in love with this woman. And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she had loved me in return. Claire and I had certainly defied the odds. And together, we weathered the tempestuous anger from several members from both of her families- Noah Bennett's, in particular.

The man had gone completely ballistic when he'd found that his newly reformed ex-serial killer partner had been secretly seeing his precious Claire-Bear for months.

It had all started after the incident with Canfield.

That night, as we'd driven back to the Bennett's humble abode, I could see the disillusionment in Claire's eyes. Noah, knocked off his fatherly pedestal, was trying desperately to make amends. He was pleading his case in a failed attempt to justify his actions.

But Claire was having none of it. And it had been made perfectly clear to me that she had heard this little speech before, too many times to count.

Bennett had tried to sound so convincing. "I know you're... disappointed. But I did what I had to do. For _us_."

From my position in the backseat, I had been watching intently as this little melodrama played out.

And when I couldn't stand it anymore, the blatant lies and Claire's obvious uneasiness, I just had to intervene for her sake. "She doesn't believe a word you're saying. She knows _exactly_ what you did back there; why you didn't take down Stephen Canfield when you had the chance."

"Nobody's talking to you," Noah had growled dangerously - a warning of sorts, a shot across the bow.

Undeterred by his implied threat I'd pressed on, "Claire finally sees you for what you are: a user. Isn't that right, Claire? You used her to find that poor man and then you used him to kill me, because, to you, I'm nothing but a monster. He doesn't see our humanity, Claire. He _never _will."

I couldn't stop myself from smirking the moment Claire had bolted from the car. My small victory over Bennett, however, had been very short-lived.

After a tension-filled three hour plane ride, and an equally unpleasant one-hour drive to Hartsdale, we had finally arrived back at Primatech- _home, sweet, home_.

And it was there that Noah Bennett demonstrated the full measure of his displeasure in regards to my meddling. We had already exited the non-descript rental sedan, and were moving at a leisurely pace toward the service entrance. I remember being surprised yet not alarmed when he had allowed me to walk a few paces ahead of him.

I should have known, though, that Daddy Bennett was one vindictive son-of-a-bitch. Before I'd even reached the ugly gray metal door, Noah had swiftly removed his gun from the holster located snugly inside his jacket.

Still standing behind me, and without uttering a single word, the sneaky bastard had summarily fired off two rounds- each one embedding itself into the back of my vulnerable knees.

"Fuck!" I'd roared, as indignation and anger rose. My injured body then collapsed, with an unceremonious thud, onto hard asphalt path that had led up to the entrance. Bennett, perhaps sensing the healing process would soon begin, had wasted no time in asserting his dominance over me.

My generous eyebrows shot up, when, surprise, surprise, the Haitian had slithered onto the scene, seemingly out of nowhere. Rene had possessed an intrinsic talent to blend into the inky shadows of the night.

_He'd always been such a stealthy motherfucker._

As the eerily calm agent stood a few feet away from Noah and me, I realized right then that he was about to bear witness to yet another lesson in my "re-education". Rene's mere presence also meant that Claire's daddy wanted to have his way with me without the pesky interference of my abilities.

_Lucky me._

My heart careened into the pit of my stomach with the velocity of an out of control elevator car the moment Noah bent down to lower his leering face to mine. And to my great annoyance, I was summarily greeted by the Company Man's trademark shit-eating grin. _God, how I hated that smile._

It only broadened, to Cheshire Cat proportions, when I actually yelped_, _that's right, _yelped,_ after feeling his dry calloused fingers dig deeply into my scalp. He then proceeded to viciously tug at my usually well-coiffed hair, almost pulling it out of its roots. Meanwhile, the weight of his size-14 loafer clad foot had lodged itself onto my lower lumbar, cruelly pushing me back into the ground.

When I heard the timber of Bennett's gleeful chortle rumble deep within his chest, I grimaced, as the _fucker_ had taken perverse pleasure in hindering my efforts to get back on my own two feet.

Noah had been practically seething when at last he spoke, "Well, _Gabriel._ It seems you and I are at an impasse. You still feel the need to talk to my daughter, and _I_ still feel the need to hurt you for it."

I'd never felt as helpless as I did at that exact moment. And that creepy Haitian, after rendering me powerless, had kept up his taciturn vigil– like a dark and ominous sentinel.

Not _once_ did Rene lift a finger to help me, nor did he raise his voice in protest. In fact, the Haitian appeared rather detached as his pitch-black eyes clinically observed his former partner use me as a human punching bag.

Looking back on that night, I'd been truly and utterly defenseless against Bennett's sadistic onslaught. And without my powers, and weighing in at a whopping 150 pounds, both men knew that I would be ill equipped to handle a beating from such a well-seasoned company agent. And yet this little tidbit hadn't deterred Noah from throwing my hapless ass back down into the dirt only to kick me hard in the ribs straight after. My groans of pain only seemed to spur him on as he continued to rain down on me with blows from his powerful fists and pulverizing kicks from the pointed toes of his shoes.

Nevertheless, the way I saw it, Bennett was just another bully in a long line of bullies that had gotten their jollies at the expense of poor, pathetic Gabriel Gray. But what he, and every other asshole that had kicked my dick in the dirt, never took into account, was that I still had my wits about me accompanied by the unnerving ability to get under someone's skin with just a turn of a phrase.

And I knew _exactly_ what Bennett's kryptonite was, what it had always been. Now I all had to do was exploit it for all it was worth.

Blood had gushed out of my mouth as the damning words suddenly spewed forth in spite of my present agony.

"I wonder what your precious _Claire_ would say if she could see you now, Noah," I had managed to grind out, after another swift punt had collided with my already battered mid-section. "Is beating me to a pulp going to actually keep her safe? It is going to restore your already tarnished image, _Daddy_?" The sarcastic little grin I gave him was really just for emphasis. "After all, _I'm_ the one that saved her from Canfield's vortex, not you."

As expected, that last comment had earned me a punch right in the kisser, loosening a few my orthodontic-corrected teeth in the process.

Noah had bellowed with all the self-righteous indignity he could muster, "Shut up, you son-of-a-whore!"

I should've quit while I was ahead. Still, the impish need to best this man in psychological warfare had urged me to soldier on, "Watch it, Bennett. You've just insulted my _mother_. And I don't think Angela would take too kindly to you calling her a _tramp_. Which reminds me…have you told Claire about her new uncle yet?"

Well, that did it. I'd burrowed deep into that skin of his-like a nasty case of eczema. And the Company Man had been so enraged over my snarky assertions that the steam coming of out his ears had actually fogged up the lenses of his ugly horn-rimmed glasses.

Next, his grubby hands had reached out to roughly grab the lapels of my Company issued suit, hoisting my limp body up to meet him eye to eye.

"Listen to me, you piece of filth," he'd fumed all while his meat hooks shook me like life-sized ragdoll. "You are _never_ to go near my daughter again! You're not to look at Claire, speak to her or even _think_ about her, ever! And I don't give a rat's ass what Angela Petrelli may have told you. You are _not, _nor will you ever be, Claire's family_._"

My body, broken and battered, had been on the verge of collapse. And I knew, judging from the copious amounts of spatter on Bennett's starched dress shirt, I had been bleeding profusely. My face felt horribly swollen and I was certain that its features had been distorted beyond recognition. One of my eyes had been welded shut under the weight of the repetitive pummeling of Noah's fists. And lastly, a fractured rib had punctured my left lung, which had made it extremely difficult to breathe.

Yet, regardless of the abuse I'd received, one irrefutable fact remained: _I would heal_.

And so, in my infinite wisdom, I decided to remind Noah Bennett of exactly _who_ I had to thank for that little miracle. "Take a good hard look at your handiwork, Noah. Just remember, the next time you see me, I'll be as good as new. And it's all thanks to your lovely, _voluptuous_ and indestructible daughter."

And just as I braced myself for the backhanded slap Bennett was preparing to deliver across my cocky expression- Angela's authoritative voice rang out as clear as a bell.

"That is quite_ enough_, Noah!"

_TBC…_

lllll

A/N: I just wanted to let you all know that the flashback will indeed continue in the next chapter. And yes, it will still be told from Sylar's point of view. And Claire _will_ find out what her dear old dad did, further widening the rift between father and daughter.

On a personal note, I also would like to thank everyone for their kind words regarding my brother. He's started taking the cocktail and has reacted favorably so far. His pneumonia has also cleared up. He's still not out of the woods, but my family and I remain cautiously optimistic. Keep those prayers and good vibes comin'!

Love,

Smithy


	4. Chapter 4

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

**Chapter Four**

_Gabriel "Sylar" Gray – The Pinehearst laboratories – (continuation of Sylar's recollections) _

_Four years ago…_

And just I'd braced myself for the backhanded slap Bennett was preparing to deliver across my cocky expression- Angela's authoritative voice rang out.

"That is quite_ enough_, Noah!"

Like a big sloppy basset hound heeding its master's command, Bennett's reaction had been immediate. His raised arm, frozen in mid-action, had ceased to execute his next move.

The dumbstruck Haitian, meanwhile, had eventually broken his silence. "_Pardon, Madame Petrelli." _His apology had been humble and heartfelt.

"_Fermez la bouche, Rene!_ I'll deal with you in a moment." Angela's dark piercing eyes had narrowed with disapproval. Bowing his head in disgrace, the Haitian had precipitously obeyed her by shutting the fuck back up.

I had marveled, with some satisfaction, at how subservient Rene had been. Bowing and scraping like a good little lapdog, as he acknowledged and acquiesced to _Mommy Dearest's_ authority.

With two imposing looking agents flanking her on either side, the Company's _grande dame_ had swiftly advanced upon us with the sure-footed steps of a sovereign.

Decked out in the high-society regalia customarily worn by women of her lofty station, Angela's lithe figure had been clad in a tailored navy-blue _Chanel_ business suit. Meantime, the _click-clack_ of her matching stiletto-heeled _Manolo_ _Blahnik's _had resounded all around us with a distinctive ping reminiscent of ricocheting ammunition.

As I had continued to scrutinize her, I couldn't help noticing that Angela's neck had been adorned with her signature rope of pearls. She had claimed, of course, that the necklace had been a family heirloom, passed down to her from many generations of Shaw women. I, on the other hand, had other ideas regarding the pearls. To be perfectly honest, I half suspected that the clever old gal may have actually utilized said "heirloom" as a garrote.

Her dark hair had been swept up into an elaborate up-do. This had been done of course for functionality, not aesthetics. And the luxurious cosmetics (_Clinique_ or _Estee Lauder_, if I remember correctly) which had been meticulously applied to her lips and eye lids reminded me of ceremonial war paint.

Yep, Angie had been dressed to the teeth. And to the untrained eye, Mama Petrelli's outward appearance conveyed all the elegance and blue-blooded aplomb of old money. Judging the fierce expression etched across her face, though, this woman had been outfitted for battle right down to the sharpened points of her French manicured claws.

After bringing her little procession to a complete halt, the Company head faced us. A tremor of apprehension had crawled its way down my body as her cold eyes promptly appraised the sorry state of affairs.

Barely able to contain her ire, Angela had inhaled deeply through the delicate nostrils of her patrician nose. While her body had become visibly tensed, her countenance tightened into a grim expression.

Leveling her weighty glare over at Bennett, her voice sliced through the painful stillness. "Well, Noah. Would _you_ care to explain to me exactly what in blazes is going on here?"

"Angela, you of all people should be able to understand…" he had begun to slowly explicate his motives – hoping, yet again, to weasel his way out of a very sticky situation.

But he was immediately cut off by the harsh words uttered by Claire's bio-granny. "…_understand_, Noah? The _only_ thing that I have to understand is the fact that the escapees from Level 5 are still at large.

And I had been under the distinct impression that you and I were on the same page regarding this problem. Apparently, you've had your own hidden agenda all along.

No matter, the mission I set forth was quite explicit: you _and_ Gabriel were to re-capture the fugitives and bring them back here, where they belong. Nothing, and I mean _nothing_, should have derailed you from that! Yet, what do I find? My son bloodied and beaten by the very man I thought could mentor him. He needs guidance and someone to teach him the ropes of how things operate in our organization."

As expected, Bennett had objected to mother's intentions most vehemently. "But Angela, you can't expect _me_ to take him under my wing like some wayward stray. The bastard hurt my daughter, _your_ granddaughter. He's a killer, a _monster_ for God's sake!"

"The harm to Claire notwithstanding, some would say the same about you. Let's not kid ourselves, Agent Bennett- you're no innocent. Your hands have been permanently stained by the blood of _your_ countless victims, just like Gabriel.

You've also killed indiscriminately.

Oh I know, you'll say it was for the greater good, to keep people like _you_ safe from people like _us_ – like Gabriel and me. But you and I know better than that, so let's cut the shit, shall we?"

Defeated by the truth of his own misdeeds, Noah bit down on his tongue as he turned his head away. To my supreme pleasure, the man had been subjugated and ashamed.

And it was in that instant that my heart had swelled with pride and an overwhelming love for the formidable woman that had claimed to be my mother. I wanted nothing more than to lay my weary head upon her maternal bosom and allow her to comfort me in a protective embrace. After days of self-reflection and doubt, I had started to accept the far-fetched notion that perhaps I truly was her long lost son, her Gabriel.

Moments later, I was suddenly wrenched out of my familial musings when Angela, with the unassailable comportment of a drill sergeant, had commenced to issue her orders.

"Rene, reel in your ability and allow Gabriel to heal, _right now_."

"_Oui_, Madame Petrelli." The Haitian had meekly replied.

I smiled inwardly as wave after wave of blessed relief had promptly washed over me. A grateful sigh had slipped past my lips as the surge of power flowed and ebbed throughout every corpuscle. I could actually sense the firing of synapses, as my entire being pulsed with the energy of restoration. I had been caught in a delirious state of flux, a near-orgasmic _renaissance_, as the bruises and cuts had vanished and broken bones snapped back into place.

When the healing process had run its course, I quickly touched my fingers to my newly restored face to ensure that everything had shifted to its proper place. Reassured at what I had found, I softly whispered a hasty word thanks to the girl who'd been inadvertently responsible for my extraordinary revitalization. Mercifully, the only evidence that any violence had taken place at all had been my sullied suit.

"_Thank you, Claire_".

"Did you say something, Gabriel?" Angela had asked with some concern.

Choosing not to answer her, I only shook my head in a negative gesture.

"Very well then…why don't you allow Agents Harris and Jessup lead you back to your cell, dear? They'll make sure you get cleaned up and settled in for the night." Her eyes had crinkled up as the briefest of smiles stretched across her lips.

I'd practically beamed as I returned the gesture with a smirk of my own.

Wordlessly, I did as she'd asked. I'd already torn myself away from Noah's greedy grasp and had started to follow Angela's mute attendants back down to Level 5.

I was almost out of earshot, cursing the loss of Dale Smithers' ability when the verbal tirade began again. But Angela's scolding words to Bennett had reached me just the same.

"You _disgus_t me, Noah. After all these years and you _still_ feel an aversion to specials. I don't know what Thompson ever saw in you. And yet, our Company entrusted you with our greatest treasure, our Claire. I had objected, of course. But Kaito, misguided fool that he was, had overruled me. He actually _believed_ in you and your ability to keep her safe.

But you know what I see, Noah? Underneath that dedicated Company Man, tough-as-nails _James Bond_ frontage, you're still that used-car salesman Thompson had plucked out of obscurity. If hadn't been for us you'd still be charming the unsuspecting dupes with a load of horseshit until you cinch the deal. The only difference now is that you carry a gun.

In other words, you're a _bully_, Agent Bennett- and a bigot as well, which I find distasteful. Men like you _destroy_ what they don't understand. Men like you _killed_ my parents and tore my family apart.

My God, what would _Claire_ say or do if she were to ever find out what you did to poor Gabriel? What you've _always_ done to our kind, when given the chance. Why, I have half a mind to pick up the phone and tell her myself!"

Fearful that Angela would've made good on her threat, Noah had cried out, "You wouldn't dare!"

Her tone had turned to ice. "Oh, wouldn't I? Continue to try my patience and see what happens. Now get yourself together. I expect you and Rene to report to my office in 5 minutes. Is that clear?"

After a moment's pause, the Company Man had mumbled his reply, "_Crystal_."

lllll

_Two weeks later_…

It had been the end of yet another grueling day. I don't know what had been worse: the never ending backbiting and squabbling with Bennett or wrangling around with a very beautiful yet very nasty female constrictor. The bitch had tried to crush the life out of me and then my so-called partner. Thank God I'd been able to subdue her by telekinetically slamming her head into a brick wall. Not hard enough to kill, mind you- but the force of the impact had sent the brunette beauty straight to Slumber Town.

Naturally, there had been no words of thanks, no gratitude of any kind from the man whose life I'd saved. Bennett had simply grumbled at me, like some hairless ape, to prep the fugitive for transport back to the Company.

_Oh goody, grunt work!_

Far be it for Noah to have actually done any of the heavy lifting. Why should he, when all he had to do was delegate all the shit detail to yours truly.

And being a do-gooder had been exhausting work.

Ah well, it didn't matter. Besides, Angela had Papa-Bear Bennett on a very short leash these days, ever since his little transgression. And I, on the other hand, had been a very good boy by doing everything I could to prove my worth.

And yet, no matter how many feats of heroism I'd performed, I still hadn't earned the golden ticket out of my concrete living quarters down in good ol' Level 5.

Not that it was all bad. I mean, Angie had seen to it that I got a real bed with a comfy Sealy Posturepedic mattress. Hell, it sure beat having to sleep on that cement block, night after night. I was also given books to read to pass the time between missions, a few toiletries and new suit to replace the one that Bennett had ruined.

And now, as I'd stretched myself out on the bed, a sudden realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

I was bone tired from bagging and tagging other specials while trying to suppress the dark impulses that still stirred within me. Despite my so-called rehabilitation, I still was restless and more importantly, very, very lonely.

I'd truly hoped that as the weeks passed that Angela and I would bond somehow. I was desperate, _hungry_ for the positive reinforcement and the nurturing that only she, as my mother, could provide. But her visits had become more and more infrequent. And when I'd questioned her about it Angela had cited a busy work schedule as the reason for her absence.

Mind you, I knew the woman had the weight of running the Company on her narrow shoulders. But surely she could have spared a few minutes for her prodigal son.

Something had been amiss, the pieces just didn't fit.

As my mind had continued to ponder this dilemma, the lights had suddenly switched off, plunging the entire cellblock into darkness. I knew then that I had to let go my troubled thoughts and call it a night. So I adjusted my long slim body into a comfortable sleeping postion then closed my eyes. Moments later, just as I was finally drifting off to sleep, imagine my complete surprise, when the fluorescent lamps had flickered back on illuminating my cell once again.

"What the hell…?" I'd groused in disapproval. As I slowly sat up to investigate the source of the well-lit intrusion I suddenly found myself staring into the eyes of the last person I'd ever expected to see.

"_Claire?"_

The petite blonde's face had been locked into a disgusted scowl as she unflinchingly stared right at me from the other side of the observation window. And without any preamble, Claire had bluntly stated the purpose of her unforeseen visit. "You may be total _whack job_. But you've never lied to me. Now I want you to tell me _exactly_ what happened between you and my Dad."

_TBC…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

Sorry for the long wait. I was involved in some more family drama and then I got the flu. Both events prevented me to write as much I would have liked.

**Chapter Five**

_Claire Bennet – Pinehearst Laboratories 23 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion _

I can't believe it's only been a day since my entire world went to shit.

My life was cherry, fucking _pristine_. I couldn't have asked for a sweeter situation.

Free from the fetters of tyrannical overprotection, I _finally_ got to hunt down bad guys. And on my own terms no less. Answering to no one except bio-dad, I came and went as I pleased, while enjoying the creature comforts provided by a limitless expense account. There were no complications, no emotional entanglements. I was pretty much left to my own devices, doling out some well-deserved justice to my heart's content- all while living for the thrill of the next assignment.

Like I said, it was a sweet, sweet situation.

That is until I got wind yesterday of the mission that came down the pike from the top brass. Not only did I have to assassinate my renegade uncle, I had to prevent his time-traveling twin from meeting with the one man I'd hope to never see again.

But Karma, it seems, has a cruel sense of humor. Yet, here's the thing…I'm not laughing.

Because no matter how many times I've tried to outrun him over the years, or forget his existence altogether, here I am, once again, standing face to face with my worse nightmare - _fucking_ Sylar.

Yeah, to the rest of the world he may be Gabriel Gray, the redeemed former serial killer turned suburban single dad.

But as I continue to glower hatefully at the man looming before me, all I see is a wolf in sheep's clothing. Sure, he may look like he just walked off the set of _Revenge of the Nerds_. But the drab Father Knows Best get-up and the hopelessly geeky glasses aren't fooling anyone – especially me.

I know better than most that beneath that mild-mannered exterior now beats the heart of a resurrected killer. A killer, who would have remained dormant, had it not been for my single-minded need to acquire my target.

How could I have been so _stupid_? I should have listened to Daphne…

Oh God, _Daphne_. I kind of lost sight of her after everything went _kaboom. _Somehow that little speed demon got our asses out of the hot zone just seconds before Gabriel nuked Costa Verde to kingdom come. It must have been providence or divine intervention. I can only hope that her swift footedness hurtled her back into the safety of her family's waiting arms.

Looking back on it all, it seems like ages now since Daphne, Knox and I had first found ourselves apprehensively staring at the double doors of my former domicile.

lllll

_26 hours earlier…_

My fixed gaze had been sharp and vigilant, as I tried to objectively assess the goings-on within the suburban edifice. An irate little sneer had quickly presented itself on my otherwise frigid expression, when I'd read the name on the mailbox. The bold black letters meticulously painted on its side had mockingly proclaimed that this piece of real estate was still _The Bennet's_ domain.

_How ironic, considering that not single Bennet had resided in this house for a very long time. _

The dwelling itself had been a cookie-cutter copy of the rest of the homes on this particular block. Nothing about it had been extraordinary really - just another two-storied, single-family, beige stucco tract house.

And yet, the prevailing reminiscences that this particular structure invoked had abruptly beset me with a startling and unwelcomed wave of nostalgia. This unassuming run-of the-mill house had been my home once, a safe and happy haven from the cruel realities of the outside world.

But that was in another life when I had been a young and impressionable girl that still believed in heroes.

Now, as my team and I prepared to raid the place, Daphne had warily asked me, "Are sure about this, Claire?"

Knox and Daphne had _repeatedly_ cautioned me about the dire consequences of returning to Costa Verde to face my abandoned past. Daphne, bless her ever bleeding heart, had been especially concerned about my emotional state.

Despite her good intentions, I was immediately perturbed by her audacity of calling my judgment into question. Livid beyond belief, I slightly tilted my head to cast a side-long glance toward my fellow combatant. With my jaw set firmly in place, I delivered a rapid-fire reply between gritted teeth, "Yeah, I'm _sure_. Why, you think I'll crack?"

Daphne's Cupie Doll features had knowingly smiled at me. With an almost impish air she turned to face me, as I scrutinized how the platinum blonde hue of her recently cut bob had glinted brightly in the mid-day sun.

"Bennet, you and I have been through a lot together. And we've helped each other through some pretty hairy situations. Even seen some things _nobody_ in their right mind ought to see."

"So…?"

Her elfish demeanor had instantly evaporated when her voice took on a sterner tone. "_So_… your _family_ is just on the other side of this door- the man and child you _deserted_.

And knowing Sylar the way we do, he may still be really pissed at you for leaving him. Think about it, Claire. There's no telling what he'd be capable of if he were to see you again. You may want to sit this one out. Don't worry, Knox and I will take care of everything."

Knox, who had always been a day late and a dollar short, finally chimed in for good measure, "She's right, Claire. Let me and the _Road Runner_ handle this. You're not thinking clearly right now anyway. That's _Sylar_ in there- with your kid. This could get ugly real fast, girl."

Infuriated by their nervous qualms, I heatedly lashed out at both of my subordinates, summarily reminding them, in no uncertain terms, of who was still in charge.

"_Fuck you_, Knox! Fuck both of you! How _dare_ you question my ability to carry out this operation? In case it's slipped your minds, I don't answer to _anyone_ but the President. And it was on _his_ orders that I gunned down his brother, _my uncle_.

What's more, since that other _idiot_ from the past decided to _fuck_ with the timeline, we've got to do it all over again.

It's been left up to _us_ to finish the job before it's too late.

And do you know why? Do you _dumb shits_ even have a clue? Well allow me to shed some light on the subject. If Peter is allowed to live, then the world and everyone in it _dies_! So we've got to stop him, by any means necessary, _before _he takes Sylar's power. We're the only ones that can."

"Alright, Claire, you win. You've made your point," Daphne had begrudgingly conceded. "But tell me this: what happens when you see that little boy? Are you even aware that he looks just like you? How's it going to _feel_ when you see your own eyes staring back at you, huh? Will you be able to kill Peter right in front of your own flesh and blood?"

My eyes had widened with incredulous surprise as I was struck a pitiless blow by the reality of the current situation.

I hadn't laid eyes on Noah since he was six weeks old. Crinkling my brow, I'd begun to wrestle with the disquieting images of the last time I had seen my son. He'd been just a baby, a wriggling little red-faced newborn whose eyes hadn't even fully opened yet.

Noah, born innocent and still untouched by my growing cynicism and hatred, had never got to know me. I didn't give him that chance.

The last thing he needed anyway was to be raised by a cold and heartless woman like me.

And as paradoxical as it had seemed at the time, he'd been much better off with his father at any rate. If nothing else I'd been secure in the knowledge that Gabriel would love and cherish our son. And more importantly Noah had been protected and kept safe- the two things that I'd been incapable of providing due to my stint with post partum depression and mind-numbing grief.

Consequently these inescapable facts had only strengthened my resolve to walk away, to leave everything behind to confront my destiny. It was the least I could have done for my child- a parting gift, if you will, from a reluctant mother to an oblivious son.

Over the years I had owned up to that harrowing decision, and never looked back.

That was until Daphne's words of brutal honesty had managed to do what no blade or bullet ever could. The awful truth had effectively pierced through the amour-plated walls of my carefully constructed apathy.

Almost immediately my eyelids had begun to blink in rapid succession, in a vain attempt to stave off the tears that threatened to trickle down my face. My ability to command had been violently wrenched away by feelings of regret and guilt.

Enraged and humiliated by the spontaneous display of emotion I struggled to regain some semblance of control. As a result, my lethally trained hands had swiftly reached around the back of my black leather pants to retrieve my trusty weapon – a heavy snub-nosed .38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver.

I remember gnashing my teeth together, snarling like some feral beast as I had skillfully whipped the gun forward in one fluid motion. With a triumphant sneer, I then aimed the business end of the firearm straight at Daphne's forehead- my deadly intentions had been undoubtedly conveyed.

An atypically panicked Knox, the sadistic thug that had always thrived on everyone else's fear, had cautiously moved toward me with small tentative steps.

In an attempt to diffuse the escalating situation, his dark bony hands had been raised in a sign of surrender, as the former gang-banger tried to mollify my volatile disposition.

"Whoa, Claire- why don't you put the gun down, okay? She didn't mean any harm, isn't that right Daphne?"

_Click _went the gun's hammer as I'd gradually pulled it back. My eyes then narrowed into emerald slits which had frostily observed the visibly shaken girl mutely bob her head in agreement.

"Let's get one thing straight," I'd hissed rancorously, all while pressing the cold hard steel gun barrel into her smooth pale flesh. "You were both assigned to this mission to follow _my_ orders, no questions asked, because that's what you've been trained to do – to follow my directives to the letter, regardless of the circumstances or who gets in your way!

Now I don't want to hear another _goddamned_ word about Sylar or the boy. Or so help me God I'll put a bullet in you faster than a rabbit gets fucked! Got it?"

"Yeah, we got it." Knox had gruffly replied. Daphne again acquiesced with a silent nod.

When I had been completely satisfied with the team's compliance I returned the revolver to its rightful place.

And as Daphne had expelled a sigh of relief, I pointedly stared daggers at both of them. Throwing my shoulders back, I stood as tall as my 5' 1" frame would allow me to.

"Okay, people," I'd snarled with grim determination. "Let's get this show on the road."

llll

To say that we had seriously fucked up would be the hugest understatement of the year, of the century even. And now over 24 hours after having propelled myself headlong into the bowels of Hell itself, I'm forced to deal with the repercussions of the worst catastrophe to have occurred on American soil since 9/11.

I had made a terrible miscalculation, one injudicious mistake by grossly underestimating the level of Knox's intelligence. And it had cost me dearly. God only knows how much.

_Stupid bastard!_

What made him think that he could actually take on _Sylar_, of all people? Not to mention his lethal cache of stolen abilities? Yeah, Knox had always been a very deadly opponent. The man had an animalistic predisposition, honed to perfection on the mean streets of South Central L.A., to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies with intimidation and violence. Benjamin Knox had been someone not to be taken lightly.

But my ex-husband, even after years of being out of the game, had been even deadlier. And with his god-like powers I knew he had Knox at serious disadvantage. I just never thought in a million years that things could have unraveled so badly.

It had all happened so fast. One minute I'd been negotiating the terms of Peter's surrender, the next Noah had been crushed by the impact of his father's weight crashing into the table.

If I close my eyes, I can still see the horrific scene play out over and over again on a continuous loop.

_Vividly I recall how Gabriel had cradled our now dead son- the look of anguish and despair written all over his pallid face. He had sobbed openly, hot tears streaming down his cheeks, as his trembling fingers reverently traced Noah's every blood-stained feature. _

"_Noah…come on buddy, wake up," he softly begged. _

_I felt a knife twist in my gut as the earnest supplications continued for several more moments. However every plea had gone unanswered. And I knew then that no amount of prayer would ever bring Noah back. _

_He was gone, oh dear God, he was gone –just like Mom and Dad._

_And that's when the impossible happened – the heart I thought had frozen over forever, the atrophied organ that made me impervious to emotional pain, had shattered into a million pieces. When I felt the salty moisture of one lone tear roll down my cheek, I was awestruck._

_A lump formed in the back of my throat as Gabriel sharply turned his sorrowful gaze toward me compelling an audible gasp from my parted lips. His eyes, dark and hollow, had seemed fathomless as they simultaneously beseeched and accused._

_Knox meanwhile had been dumbfounded by the awful realization of what he had done. And from the corner of my eye I had seen Peter and Daphne, still as statues, waiting with bated breath for the next shoe to drop._

_The next few minutes had been a complete blur as all hell broke loose. And regardless of my best efforts to reign in my fear, my limbs had trembled uncontrollably as terror-stricken eyes witnessed the utter defeat of Gabriel Gray. With my heart beating wildly within the confines of my chest, I watched helplessly the ghastly re-birth of the blood-thirsty psychopath known as Sylar._

_And the rest, as they say, is history. _

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

Sorry for the long wait. I was wrestling with a very nasty bought of writer's block. But now I'm back and so is this story. I just had to continue this for all of the fans that loved Heroes until the bitter end. Enjoy!

**Chapter Six**

_Claire Bennet – Pinehearst Laboratories 23 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion _

_And the rest, as they say, is history. _

Which brings me back to my current dilemma…what to do about the _asshole_ that ruined my life?

Demurely, I bow my head, seemingly resigned to the retribution Sylar has planned for me.

"Okay, _Gabe_. You win." I whisper with feigned humility. I don't move a muscle as I wait for him to pounce on my tiny frame with predatory hunger. Instead he gawks at me with that ever piercing gaze of his.

Fleetingly I recall how I used _love_ drowning in the mahogany-colored depths of Gabriel's expressive eyes. They had always conveyed the desperate nature of his possessive craving for me.

I almost laugh aloud as I remember how a cocked left eyebrow followed by a heated stare from those very same eyes would get me to spread my tanned thighs for him like a wanton whore _all_ the time, _every_ time. But that had been in the early days of our relationship when I was a naïve young thing rebelling against _both_ of my daddies.

Yeah, stupid me, here I thought the _best_ way to get Nathan's and Noah's attention was to actually lose my precious, fucking virginity to their common sworn enemy.

_Oh the horror of it all! Sweet, innocent Claire Bennet deflowered by the Boogeyman!_

Only problem was the joke had definitely been on me. See, Sylar turned out to be one _incredible_ lay and I'd quickly become addicted to everything he could do to me with his fingers, mouth and cock.

To put it bluntly, he'd ruined me for all others, for all time. And I should know considering the long, _long_ string of would-be lovers I've bedded over the years after I walked out him. Man or woman, it's made no difference, because no one's even come close to making me _feel_ or gotten me off the way he did. And I'm afraid no one ever will.

Not that Sylar will ever know. Not a chance. No way in hell!

I'd rather go to my grave this night with _that_ little secret. Frankly, I'd prefer to face a thousand deaths, each one more horrible than the last. _Anything_ would be better than divulging the reality of my sad, sad situation. I guess when the only way I can orgasm these days is with my hand furiously rubbing the aching folds between my legs as his name is torn from my lips, it's a pretty pathetic existence indeed.

Right now though, my sexual hang-ups are neither here nor there. Because _something_ tells me that the absence of smoldering passion in his eyes is NOT a good thing.

Yep, when all I see is burning hate it's safe to assume that any misguided notions I had in negotiating a truce with mild-mannered Gabriel Gray have now flown the chicken coop.

Regrettably _that_ man, much like Elvis, has left the building, taking with him any remaining fragments of humanity and compassion with him.

Thanks to me, the good-natured bespectacled watchmaker no longer inhabits this plane of existence. He's been banished, sweater vest and all, to parts unknown. And in his place stands this rage-filled monster, this _psycho_ that my arrogance has unwittingly unleashed.

And every well-honed instinct for self-preservation thrumming within me is now laced with the heart-stopping cocktail of adrenaline and fear. Bitterly I acknowledge the presence of this familiar concoction. Its potent properties have always served me well in the past by enabling me to keep my precious and vulnerable head securely placed on my shoulders.

But now I'm not so sure especially when _every_ single cell in my body is teeming with the knowledge of the awful truth - there'll be _no_ reasoning with this monster…this living, breathing nightmare.

_Although_… if want to come out of this dreadful scenario in one piece, I'll have to give it the old college try.

I've put the genie back in the bottle once before, despite the fact that it had cost me _everything_. I just don't know if I have it in me to do it again.

My innocence, my family and ultimately my inherent humanity had all been forfeited. Every blessed thing that I held most dear had been engulfed then ultimately destroyed by the firestorm of my reckless lust for a man…no, _not_ a man.

_Sylar_ was and remains first and foremost a _monster, _an abomination that razed my world with the devastating power of natural disaster.

But if all of my Saturday nights staying up late watching _Creature Feature_ with Lyle when we were kids has taught me anything is that _all_ monsters have a weak spot.

And Sylar is _no_ exception to that golden rule.

If memory serves, Dracula's disadvantage can be summed up to a bad day at the beach without SPF 5000 sunscreen slathered on his pasty white skin. The Wolf-Man's Achilles' heel is a silver bullet shot between his furry eyes. Heck, even Frankenstein's Monster wouldn't stand a chance against a mob of angry villagers with torches and pitchforks.

As for my dear ex-hubby, I know_ exactly _what Sylar's brand of kryptonite is. His failings are tied to his unreserved inferiority complex topped off by the persistent desire to be different, _special_.

All I have to do now is exploit these flaws, use them to my advantage. Then maybe, just maybe I stand a chance of making good on the promise I made him years ago before I willingly surrendered my body and soul to him.

_I'll keep trying to kill you for the rest of my life._

Of course that solemn vow had gone right out the window the very second we'd shared our first real conversation. I can still remember it like it was yesterday.

lllll

Exactly two weeks after the Stephen Canfield fiasco I'd received a very unexpected but interesting telephone call from my dear old bio-granny. With the vindictive zeal of a jackal Angela had dutifully informed me that my adopted father had taken matters into his own hands in regards to Sylar the night they'd returned from Costa Verde.

Turns out the old man had righteously and summarily kicked the crap out of the man that had just recently sawed my skull open and brain-raped me. At first I'd been elated, vindicated even. What girl wouldn't have been? Especially when my avenger had toted a big gun and even bigger grudge against the man that had defiled me?

_Go Dad!_

But when Angela had inadvertently let it slip that I was somehow _related_ to the very creep my foster father had beaten into a pulp… well let's just say my curiosity had been more than piqued.

"What do mean he's my _uncle_?"

After a dramatic pause, Angela had sighed into the phone, "Just what I said, dear. Gabriel is my son. Which makes him Nathan's and Peter's brother, hence your uncle."

The incredulous exasperation in my voice must have been apparent when I suddenly shrieked, "Gabriel? Who in _fuck_ is _Gabriel_?"

"Claire, mind your language!" my grandmother had quickly scolded. "I will not stand for that kind of talk."

She then waited until I was forced to mumble a half-assed apology before she continued with her distressing revelations.

"Gabriel is Sylar's _true _identity, Claire. And it's what I named him before I was forced to give him up for adoption."

"What's with you Petrelli's always having kids and then giving them up?" I retorted unkindly, as I was reminded of my own abandonment.

Unperturbed by my outburst, Angela had rambled on. "What happened to Gabriel was unfortunate but it couldn't be helped. On the night he was born I dreamt of his future and saw the man he would become. What I foresaw was so terrifying it still frightens me to this day. So your grandfather and I made a hasty but sound decision. We gave our baby away to a Mr. and Mrs. Martin Gray, friends of your grandfather's, if I remember correctly. Don't judge us too harshly, dear. It was done for his own protection, to prevent him from the becoming a killer."

"And how'd that work out for you, Angela?" I had nastily inquired, every word dripped with sarcasm.

"Not too well, I'm afraid," she'd reluctantly conceded. "I later learned that Martin Gray had abandoned his family when Gabriel was still a small child. And as for Virginia, his wife, she had always suffered from severe emotional problems that had been exacerbated by her husband's desertion. Her son then became the sole focus of her oppressive affections and the sole victim of her unattainable aspirations.

The poor boy never stood a chance.

But that hadn't been the worst of it. I _never_ would have anticipated the major role your _father _would play in Gabriel's life. Sadly, from time to time my power leaves out pertinent details. Nevertheless I hold _him_ most accountable for my son's downfall."

At this point my head had been spinning as my mind tried to sift through all the new and astonishing information. The mention of my father had only added to my confusion and gave me pause.

"_Nathan_? What does he have to do with anything of this?" Naturally, I assumed my grandmother had been speaking about her eldest, Senator Petrelli.

"No, Claire. Not Nathan. It was your _other_ father, Noah."

"I don't understand. What did my Dad do to Sylar?"

"_Gabriel_," she corrected. "Your father had corrupted him, goaded him into killing. Gabriel didn't want to but your father had other plans."

I immediately felt sick to my stomach, downright nauseated. Angela's story had been incredible and too fantastical to believe. And yet, if what she had said were true, then an enormous fissure would have effectively split the seemingly rock-solid foundation my life.

My hands shook uncontrollably as they tighten their grip abound the phone. The only certainty I had at the moment was the terrible feeling churning away in the pit of my stomach. And yet I'd dared myself to ask one more question of her: "How do I know if you're telling me the truth?"

With a humorless little laugh Angela firmly answered, "You don't. But it doesn't matter what I say because your father's files _never_ lie."

I gasped and immediately understood the implications concealed within that statement. Angela had challenged me to seek the truth for myself.

Just then I'd turned a wary eye towards the locked door to my dad's home office. And I knew then what I had to do next. Mom had gone to Pasadena with Muggles for the weekend to parade him around at one those awful shows. Dad was still in Hartsdale. And as for Lyle, he had been at a friend's house doing God knows what.

Who cared? All I knew was that I had the house to myself and it was time to play Nancy Drew.

After I'd bid a hasty 'good-bye' to my scheming grandma, I went to work to jimmy the lock of Noah Bennet's Fortress of Solitude. To add insult to injury I remember using the very same knife I'd stabbed Sylar with week's before to pry the door open.

It didn't take me long to find what I'd been looking for. Dad, in his infinite wisdom, had left his old Primatech files right smack in the middle of his cherry wood desk. With nimble little fingers I rifled through the boxes until I'd hit pay dirt. Then with nervous anticipation, I'd held my breath, as I slowly extracted two well worn manila folders from one of the cardboard boxes. The first one had been labeled _Claire Bennet_ and the second _Gabriel Gray_.

Thinking back to that day, I almost wish I could have left well enough alone.

And for about half a second hesitation did take hold, tempting me to shove the folders back from whence they came and be done with the whole sordid affair.

However the damning evidence contained within those two dossiers had held an irresistible pull.

To finally learn about my origins had been my greatest wish after all. I won't lie though…what _really_ cinched the deal for me, what had been the emblematic icing on the cake that egged me on to continue my snooping caper was taking a peek inside the thicker of the two folders to discover Sylar's secrets.

And after two hours of engrossed reading which turned my stomach even more I had discovered three significant and life-altering facts:

First of all, my entire family with the exception of Peter, Mom and Lyle were all fucking liars and schemers. And every single one of them had a hand in manipulating Sylar's life and mine from the very beginning.

Secondly, Angela Petrelli had dreamt of Gabriel. That much had been true. But she had failed to disclose my starring role in the reoccurring vision foretelling of a child, a little boy to be exact. Based on the detailed report, this child would be born from the union of two former adversaries. And when the boy reached manhood, according to her nocturnal premonitions, he was destined to destroy the one thing that Angela Petrelli and all of her compatriots held dear: The Company.

Which brought me the most important revelation of all…Gabriel Gray was _not_ my uncle, not even a cousin eight times removed. He had been lied to by Angela, Noah and God only knows who else. His very existence had been controlled, his every move monitored, as my activities were, for what appeared to be the sole purpose of preventing the birth of the one person that could bring the precious Company asunder: my son, Noah Gabriel Gray.

lllll

An hour and half later I'd found myself buying a one-way ticket for the red-eye from LAX bound for LaGuardia. I had just paid the cabbie with the mad money Mom had squirreled away in Mr. Muggles' treat jar. The agent at the counter didn't even raise an eyebrow when I gave her my dad's stolen credit card to pay for my seat.

_Airport security my ass! _

You'd think that alarm bells would have gone off the moment a teen-aged girl, with no luggage to speak of expect a book bag, showed up to book passage on a flight clear across the other side of the continent, especially at this hour of the night.

Yet judging from this particular clerk's keen sense of observation, it wouldn't have been surprised me if I had been seated right next to a shoe bomber on board the plane.

Oh well, I still had three hours before I landed in New York to delve even deeper into the folders I'd haphazardly shoved into my school bag. Thank God I'd had the foresight to grab Dad's spare key card. That little baby had granted me access anywhere I wanted once I snuck onto the grounds of the Hartsdale facility like a steathy ninja.

And where I had mainly wanted to be at that moment was down in Level 5 where I eventually had a little chat with a certain super-powered serial killer. I'd been pretty sure that _he_, of all people, would be _extremely_ interested in what I had to say. Especially since I now held the answers to some of his most probing questions in my trusty little knapsack.

But what about the nagging queries that had ceaselessly plagued my thoughts during that entire bizarre odyssey to Primatech?

What could have possessed my grandmother to _deliberately_ offer me the clues that eventually led me to the bombshell truth, like a trail of breadcrumbs? The very same truth, I might add, that she and the Company had tenaciously tried to suppress all of these years?

What could she possibly have had to gain from my knowing what a slime ball my grandfather, Arthur had been or that Nathan and Noah had been cut from the same cloth? These were all facts that I'd been already made painfully aware of.

And while the files had contained an overabundance of information on every aspect of Sylar's life, pages of my own personal history, aside from the few highlights I'd previously known about, had been conspicuously blacked out with the ink of a felt-tipped marker.

It was as if huge chunks of my life had been intentionally expunged, but why? What terrible secret could have warranted such meticulous concealment? There had to be more to the story. And I knew that once I had enlisted Sylar's help, together he and I would unravel the Company's web of lies.

_TBC_…


	7. Chapter 7

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

Sorry for the long wait on this one. I was dealing with family issues due to the death of my brother. But I'm back now and so is this story. Thank you all for being so patient with me.

**Chapter Seven**

_Gabriel Gray – Pinehearst Laboratories 23 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion _

"Earth to Claire…hey, baby doll, are you still with me?" My voice rolls off my tongue in what I could only describe as a mocking purr. My lips, meanwhile, have twisted themselves into the semblance of an equally contemptuous smile as I take great pleasure in towering over the diminutive assassin in a show of intimidation. Next, I snap my fingers in an upbeat staccato in a vain attempt to restore the Cheerleader's focus back where it belongs…on me.

The woman in question, however, has somehow gone into what appears to be semi-catatonic state. Her bejeweled eyes, usually spectacular in their brilliance, are now dull and glazed-over like a day old doughnut. And that pouty little mouth of hers is hanging wide open giving her the appearance of an expectant and ignorant bass about to be hooked on the line.

I don't understand this…what's going on? Whatever game this little bitch is playing at it's starting to piss me off. Here I am, just moments away from smiting her with my mighty wrath, and she's goes all Helen Keller on me. I just don't get it.

Can you imagine how incredibly _frustrating_ this is for a guy like me? I mean, fuck, my base ability is to understand the inner workings of _everything_ and _everyone_, including my former bride.

One minute, there she is, (bad dye job not withstanding) in all of her leather-clad glory, looking like a reject from the Matrix, sneering at me like nobody's business. And then in the next instant she goes into this…_trance. _

_What the fuck? _

God, it's not fair. I was really looking forward to this moment. All the way here I kept imagining a defiant Claire, green eyes blazing hell-fire, as she valiantly fights for her life. I, of course, had already cast myself in the role of the great benefactor that graciously allows her to go through the motions, all while letting her believe she stands a chance against me.

_Why not?_

It might actually be fun to let her get a few licks in before the end. I might even let her spill a little blood just to make things exciting. That is…until I get bored and decide to put her out her fucking misery.

I know, I know- I'm a glutton for punishment. Call me sick, but Claire always knew how to make it hurt _so_ good.

Christ, looking at her now, the girl still gives the impression of being just on the barely legal side of jailbait. Damn, that's _hot_. I know what you're probably thinking…she's the cunt most responsible for my current ills. And I need to make her pay, right?

_Wrong!_ Not when she's looking like the very embodiment of _every_ wet dream I've had since I was thirteen... even with the fake black hair (which I _hate_ by the way). I can hardly blame myself for actually contemplating getting my rocks off _before_ I snuff her out. A man's got needs after all.

Besides ever since she left me, I've been as celibate as a monk... well expect for the occasional jerk-fest in the shower. How pathetic is that? Gabriel might have been content living like a puritanical chump, silently beating himself off with the water running full blast, while he pined away for the cold-hearted _slut_.

But Sylar's awake now…and surprisingly enough he's as randy as a sailor on shore-leave.

Maybe I ought to give the ex one last poke for old time's sake? Do I think she'll go for it? Probably not, but I'm too far gone to care.

So I decide to take full advantage of Claire's zombie-like state when I forcefully grasp her chin within the greedy blood-stained clutch of my left hand. The vision of her youthful skin being stained in crimson makes me groan inwardly. I swoon as my head swims at the sight.

_She always did look so good in red._

Meanwhile my right hand reaches up to do away with that ridiculous ponytail. I've always preferred her hair to hang soft and loose. Hungrily I watch as her darkened tresses fall to her over her shoulders as a few coiled tendrils frame her face.

_God, she's beautiful… _

I can't wait anymore, I have to kiss Claire or die trying. Quickly I swoop down like a ravenous vulture to crush my lips hard against hers. My assault is swift, vicious and without mercy as my teeth pull and bite the tender flesh of her sweet, sweet mouth.

At first there's no reaction from Claire. It appears she's elected to remain lifeless and immobile –exuding about as much charm and warmth as plastic blowup doll.

_Oh no, no…this will not do-not at all. _

I need my girl to be an _active_ (albeit unwilling) participant of the dance. So, without further ado, I up the ante just to make things a little more…_interesting_.

Engaging my tongue, I used it as a battering ram to divide and invade past the blockade of Claire's tightly shut lips. Summoning up every dirty trick at my disposal it doesn't take me long at all to gain entrance into the moist recesses of her oral cavity.

My tongue and mouth arduously work in conjunction to slowly coax my ex-wife out of her self-imposed stupor. With methodic purpose, the muscle slithers, flicks and explores until I feel the first stirrings of life from the seemingly docile woman before me.

And when she finally emits a barely audible groan, the glorious sound emboldens me to carefully slide my hands from her beautiful face to run along the sinewy curve of her back until they land on the bountiful roundness of her pert little ass.

All semblance of my usually reined in control starts to unravel, when to my own shock and dismay, my ears discern a series of lusty moans rumbling from deep within my throat- an involuntary response to her timid ardor.

By now I'm fully aware that my body has betrayed me, considering the near painful swell of my growing erection -but I don't care. My calculated plan to humiliate and degrade has now transformed itself into a full blown seduction.

Urged on by rampant desire, my long strong fingers begin to knead and caress her firm leather-clad buttocks as I pull her warm soft body flush against mine. Her scent, to my pleasant surprise, is still the same faint vanilla that I've always associated with her –and it's as intoxicating as ever.

Claire meanwhile has started to return my kisses. She's gets an A for effort, but they lack the fiery intensity that I want, that I _need_. There's still some hesitancy on her part and it's driving me crazy. Slanting my mouth over hers, I deepen the kiss, as my tongue continues to massage hers with elicit intent. And she rewards me for my efforts with a delectable whimper followed by another which I promptly devour.

But when I sense her small hands start to glide their way up the expanse of my torso, I sigh with blessed relief. I tighten my hold on her as her fingers continue to travel over the front of my camel colored cardigan, higher and higher they go until at last they rest on the sides of my stubble laden face.

_She does still want me as much as I want her_. The thought alone makes me giddy with anticipation.

My heart is racing, my palms are sweaty and suddenly I'm as nervous as a virginal schoolboy. It's felt like ages since I've been with her. For countless lonely nights I've dreamt of this very moment…of having Claire in my arms again, loving her, feeling every inch of her naked body against mine.

Fuck, I can't even recall the last time we made love-it must have been right before Noah was bor-…

…_Oh God, Noah!_ The vivid recollection of my little boy's final moments before he ended up dead and bloody surrounded by the trembling embrace of my arms jars me out of my lust-filled haziness with same sobering effects of a bucket of ice cold water.

Disgust and self-loathing force me to release the woman that I so ardently clung to just moments before. But Claire, it appears, has other plans.

Before I can completely fling her from me, her fingers have roughly latched onto my face anchoring my forehead against hers. My eyes widen in surprise as they meet her now lucid glare head on. And what I see in those green orbs is treachery and unadulterated hate.

_The whore had been faking it the whole time! Goddamn first it had been orgasms, now this? Son of a bitch!_

Then as quick as a flash the tips of her sharpened nails deeply penetrate my skin creating half-moon gouges that start to bleed profusely. The next thing I know the devious little wench reels her head back only to bring it forward smashing it into the center of my forehead with bone crunching force. The resounding _crack_ that soon follows alerts me to the undeniable fact that my _expensive_ prescription eyeglasses have been demolished in the process.

_Shit!_

Needless to say I'm momentarily stunned as constellations of stars dance brightly before my eyes. But sweet little Claire isn't done with me yet. In what I can only describe as the lowest of blows, she swiftly brings her right knee up making severely brutal contact with my groin promptly dropping my 6' 2" lanky frame down the grey linoleum floor below like bag of dirty laundry.

As a result, what remains of my damaged eyewear summarily flies off my face relieving me of any vestiges of dignity or proper sight. However the lack of vision doesn't seem to worry me at the moment since I currently feel as if someone has just set my testicles on _fire_!

The pain is _excruciating_ and it feels as if she's kicked my balls all the way into my throat. I curl up into a fetal position, rocking back and forth, writhing and moaning at her feet, cursing her name, while at the same time praying for the assured respite from this _agony_ that only Claire's stolen ability can give me.

Gasping for air I carefully try to raise myself up into a sitting position by pushing my back against the wall as my long legs splay out before me. My hands meanwhile are in my lap, fingers making light circular motions in an attempt to sooth the areas in and around my injured gonads. But as minutes tick by, the burning ache in my scrotum has yet to subside. And I soon realize that there's something wrong, _terribly_ wrong.

However, I'm not given the chance to thoroughly analyze the situation when the sole of Claire's boot solidly impacts the center of my chest. The wind is suddenly knocked out of me as a new pain blooms, rapidly making the one in my nether regions a distant memory.

Murmuring a string of breathless expletives from my dry chapped lips, I do nothing but lie on the cold hard floor in a crumpled heap. I want to fucking _kill _her! I would like nothing more right now than to slice into her perfect skin over and over again to watch her bleed out. Then I'd fry her with highest voltage of electrical current, just to hear Claire scream as I _eradicate_ her from existence.

But try as I might I seem to lack the sheer force of will to even summon up the most benign of abilities. Instead of the expected surge of power there's only a heavy sense of numbness - as if my entire body has become desensitized.

_No! This can't be right._

All I can do is feebly observe as the deceptively fragile looking girl I once married commences to proficiently execute a series of combating maneuvers designed to cause the maximum amount of pain in the most minimum amount of time. And thanks to her years of diligent training she doesn't miss a step. I'm continually bombarded by her graceful and yet potent roundhouse kicks. What immediately follows is a rapid succession of strikes and bodily blows from her small but deadly fists.

To my horror and disappointment Claire has reverted back into the coldblooded fighting machine right before my very eyes. Stupidly I'd held out hope that _somewhere_ inside of her there would be a spark of humanity, of _compassion_.

_Especially after what happened to our son, Noah_.

Yet sadly I find that she is bereft of any empathy. And that's when I begin to weep openly and unashamed. I allow myself to mourn not only over the loss of our son, but for the girl that Claire use to be. That sweet, funny spirited girl is _never_ coming back because she's been replaced… _no_… usurped by this ruthless, cruel and morally bankrupt creature hovering above me.

Any resemblance to _my_ Claire is fleeting at best…the life in her green eyes has definitely died out and her face has twisted itself into a distorted inhuman caricature of the woman I had loved so deeply. _This_ Claire is fueled only by hate and I equate her to a _harpy_, a vengeful loathsome _bitch_ that actually takes pleasure in prolonging my punishment.

And just when I howl out in pain and mortification (for allowing myself to be beat by a _fucking_ _girl_), a single recurring thought remains predominately at the forefront of my addled brain: _why am I not healing?_

Soon enough I get the answer to my probing query the moment Claire ceases her ass kicking session only to crouch down in front of me. Balancing the weight of body on her haunches, she unknowingly gives me a nice view of the apex between her well toned thighs. However the near gratifying interval is short-lived when she unexpectedly reaches out to yank at my now mussed up hair between her slender yet strong fingers.

Tugging hard on my dark brown locks like marionette strings from Hell, she controls my head's movements as my bloodied face is forced to meet her angry scowl. Despite the pain, I marvel at how much she resembles her adopted father right about now. The almost identical glint of revulsion in her eyes is accompanied by that trademark Bennet cocksure smirk that only occurs when victory over an opponent is guaranteed.

That confident little sneer looms even closer now as she leans in to speak in sickly sweet tone. "I don't know who said 'With age comes wisdom'. I can tell you one thing though - they must have been a lying sack of shit. Because the older _you_ get, Gabriel, the stupider you become!

Same old pathetic Sylar -always thinking with your _dick_. You never did have any sense to know when you were being played for sucker, now did you? And I played you _good_ baby."

Her spiteful words hurt me more than the physical pain she's wrought. But I refuse to react in any way allowing only an odious glare convey the vile sentiment that I'm currently feeling.

_Fuck you, bitch. And I hope you rot in Hell!_

Since looks still can't kill, she remains unfazed by my sinister glower. But I'm pretty sure that no matter how menacing I try to be, in her eyes I'm now the weak and pathetic one…the victim…the prey.

_God, how the tables have turned…_

_TBC…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

Again this new chapter is being told from Sylar's POV. Sorry, no flashbacks. I will get back to those in the next installment.

I also know that some of you may want to get Claire's side of things, just please bear with me. What happens next is very integral to the plot. Trust me on this. And for those of you that are worried that Gabe has somehow lost his mojo, fear not…the boy will get his groove back soon enough.

Well enough jibber jabber, on with the show…

**Chapter Eight**

_Gabriel Gray – Pinehearst Laboratories 23 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion _

_God, how the tables have turned…_

Claire cruelly tugs at my hair again, unquestionably to get my wavering focus back on her. Begrudgingly I roll my eyes toward her frowning face, inadvertently giving her my undivided attention. Right away a smugly satisfied grin spreads across the expanse of her lip-stick smeared mouth eventually showing off two rows of perfect little white teeth.

Jesus, I would give my left nut right now if I could knock every single one of them out. Yeah, they'd just grow back, but it would still feel good to wipe that self-righteous smirk off of her face.

Instead, I can only muster up enough energy to watch her lips move as I listen to every word she has to say.

"I'm sure you're probably wondering how I was able to get the drop on you. But the even _bigger_ question that's probably rattling around that _rotten_ brain of yours is what exactly happened to all those _precious_ abilities you _killed_ for, right?"

When I decline to respond, she gives the tuft of hair still in her grasp another hard pull. "I asked you a question, _Sylar_. Answer me…_now_!" she hisses scornfully.

God, I never thought I'd live to see this day - but I _fucking_ HATE Claire Bennet so much right now. And yet I find that the self-loathing I'm currently experiencing outweighs any vehemence I feel for her.

Shit, I must be slipping- too many years spent in suburbia playing house-dad while suppressing my abilities have made me soft and my instincts dull. I should have seen through Claire's subterfuge, I should have known better. To call this a _supreme_ lack of judgment on my part would be the understatement of the century.

Loneliness and nostalgia made me disregard who and what I truly am. While my lingering love for Claire _blindsided_ me. Not only did I fall right into the bitch's trap, I allowed myself to momentarily forget my whole reason for being here in the first place - _to avenge my little boy_.

Yet despite these new-found realizations I comply with her harsh demand when I at last murmur, "Okay Claire, I'll bite. What happened to my powers?"

She smiles even wider as the _raison d'être_ behind my current malady and ultimate fate are finally revealed.

"See here's the deal, sweetheart. I _knew_ you were going to show up here eventually. So I left you a little 'Welcome Home' present – something you couldn't possibly resist."

And that's when it hits me…how _stupid_ could I have been?

"You _sacrificed_ the Haitian." It's not a question but a statement of fact.

She only shrugs her shoulders, seemingly unconcerned by my accusation. Now desperate for the truth I push forward. "I should have known it was you when I found him duct-taped to that chair, all trussed up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey. You _wanted_ me to take his ability, didn't you? Why?"

"Because I'm father's daughter, that's why!" she shouts right into my face.

She then closes her eyes and takes a deep cleansing breath. Perhaps she needs a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing with her denunciation. (And I need a moment to grab a two by four to bash right into the back of her skull).

But just when I start to indulge in murderous flights of fancy, the little witch starts up again, "When will you ever learn, you miserable fuck? I'm a _Bennet- _we always have an ace up our sleeve. Did you actually think for even a minute that I wouldn't have had a contingency plan in place to stop you from destroying even more lives?

I wasn't going to let Pinehearst or any other part of the world become the next Costa Verde. So I laid out a trap for you. Of course there was a 50/50 chance that you'd take the bait. But hey, I've gambled my life on lesser odds, so it was a risk I was willing take.

What was so surprising was how easy it was for me to trip up the _Almighty Sylar_. I thought you were truly smarter than that.

But that's always been your problem hasn't it?

Only concerning yourself with immediate baser needs – food, sex, powers, _revenge_- it's all the same to you because they all give you the high of instant gratification. It's not your fault really - all men are this basic, this _simplistic_. It's hardwired into your DNA for Christ's sake."

_Fuck, she IS a Bennet –she can sure run her mouth like one! And it's starting to piss me off in the worst way._

"Anyway," she continues much to my chagrin, "the point I'm trying to make, _Gabe_, is that for all your crowing about your so-called _evolutionary imperative_ it doesn't mean _shit_ - you're still a Neanderthal at heart. Oh, don't get me wrong, as the female of the species, I too have a role to play. Catering to your man, keeping the home fires burning and all that load of crap all girls are spoon fed from birth…

So _I_ did what came naturally, _honey_. I _catered_ to your needs by _feeding_ you Rene's wonderful power. And do you know why, do you even have a clue? Of course not because assholes like you _never_ see the bigger picture."

Frustrated beyond belief by the never-ending monologue, I can feel a churning rage building within me with each passing second. Gritting my teeth, I continue to wrestle against the increasing pain from my pounding head and worn out body. Meanwhile my persistent brain urgently searches for a way to jump start the diminished capacity to access my powers. It's all to no avail, of course. Whatever she's done, Claire's made sure that I've been declawed and neutered.

And she knows all too well that without my abilities I can't fight worth shit. Unfortunately for me arrogance led me to believe that I never needed to learn Kung Fu or any other such nonsense. Why would I when I've got a black belt in telekinesis? Now I regret never taking Peter up on his repeated offers to show me some self-defense moves.

Emitting an angry growl I spit out, "Just get on with it, you _cunt_! I don't have all goddamned day to hear you talk!"

"Very well, let's cut to the chase then. I gave you the Haitian because I knew once you'd absorbed his power you'd use it to negate mine. That's all well and good but here's the catch…when you dampened my ability you also inadvertently shut down your own- _all of them. _

"Impossible," I vehemently whisper, denying what I already know in my heart to be true.

"Impossible you say? _Hardly, _stud. The nasty side effects of the Haitian's power have been well documented for years, just not widely known. According to the old Primatech records, series of tests were performed to determine the extent of Rene's power when he was just 15 years old.

And what the Company soon learned was that while Haitian could temporarily cancel out other specials' abilities, for some strange some strange reason he was also being affected by his own power -but on a grander scale. Further tests showed that he couldn't deploy his mind erasure ability while using his inhibiting power.

On other occasions, he had inexplicably lost _both_ of his powers. Afterward it had been reported several days had gone by before his abilities re-manifested.

At first, the lab techs had been at a complete loss to come up with a viable answer, until one them had discovered that there had been an _emotional_ component directly tied to the Haitian's powers.

You see, my Dad had just bagged and tagged him from_ Port-au-Prince,_ right after Rene's mother died from meningitis.

Imagine if you will this poor kid being ripped away from the only home he'd ever known and loosing the woman that raised him. It was only logical to assume that the _grief_ and _depression_ he was experiencing at the time had somehow affected his powers.

However what the Company hierarchy had wanted to know is if this power of his with the added elements of grief and fear could be detrimental to anyone with _multiple abilities_.

So the order came down a couple of years later to conduct one more experiment just to be certain. Someone had been brought in, a young woman, with a form emphatic mimicry. Not as powerful as dear Uncle Peter's had been, but close enough. Would you believe my Dad had actually bagged and tagged her right after she dropped off her kid at daycare? Classic!"

_Classic indeed, now more than ever I'm so glad the old bastard is dead, _my mind screams out.

Meanwhile, Claire keeps rambling on, "Oh, you have would love her, she was right up your alley - _petite, blonde_ and with a butt load of abilities just _ripe_ for the taking. Her name was Mallory Samuels, I think. Anyway, the lab geeks had kept at her for weeks, letting her absorb as many abilities as she wanted only to have them taken away as soon as Rene sauntered into the room.

I believe it was Agent Thompson that had finally suggested that she be allowed to soak up the Haitian's dampening power to see what would happen. A few tests were run after that, and all had been well. That was until my Dad, of all people, had walked in and told her that her little boy had died in accident. It had been a _lie_, of course, a devastating one, to certain. But that was precisely the point. They _needed_ her to be in a state of shock and anguish."

"Oh Christ," I groan, downright disgusted with the low handed tactics of the now defunct Company. "So let me guess. This _poor_ grief-stricken woman was then forced to use the Haitian's ability, right?"

Smiling evilly she haughtily replies, "Well give the boy a prize! Very good, Gabriel, I guess you're not as _stupid_ as you look. I'm pretty sure you know by now what happened next. But I'll tell you anyway so it really sinks in. After she had been given the 'bad news' the minute she tried to put that borrowed ability into action against another special, little Miss Mallory had lost _all_ of her powers, _just like you_.

And from what I read, it took exactly a _month_ for them to slowly return. By that time, she had outlived her usefulness so the Company had summarily disposed of her.

Bet you didn't know all that, did you? But both of my families sure did and they kept that little gem under wraps for a very long time -especially after _you_ popped up on the Company's radar.

And when I became a full fledged agent the President decided it was time to make me privy to the classified information surrounding the family's 'insurance policy'.

The White House also felt that due to our past _association_, I was the right person to carry out Nathan's executive order in the event your alter ego ever came out of 'retirement'. I guess he never did buy your whole 'reformed' act and figured I could push your buttons to get you to break somehow."

Claire then pauses for a bit and in that instant I detect what may be a hint of sorrow in her eyes before she quickly lowers them away from my scrutiny.

"I will admit that the _circumstances_ that led up to all this was unforeseen and _regrettable_, to say the least," she quietly concedes. "But regardless of those facts, the end result was a _success_. You've been neutralized, Sylar and there's no telling _when_ your powers will come back – if ever."

The next few minutes pass by in silence as I mull over the horrific implications of everything Claire has just told me. Moments later my pondering leads me to one inevitable conclusion- she means to kill me, _permanently_ this time.

So be it – I have nothing left to live for anyway. But if she thinks I'm going off into that quiet goodnight without taking her down with me, then she's crazier than I ever was.

I may not have my powers at the moment. But I still have my wits about me. And just like her father before her, I still know how to get the best of her. More to the point, there are still a few things left to say and by God I'm going say them.

So after what I feel is a sufficient amount of time I slowly level a fixed gaze straight into her eyes.

With all the regret, hate and grief I could muster I finally utter in a harsh whisper, "You selfish, stupid bitch! Did it ever occur to you that maybe _none_ of this shit would have happened if you'd left me alone? No one had to die today…but you had to have your way, didn't you, Princess?

You just had to catch your bad guy.

Oh, I may have caused the explosion, but _you _lit the fuse when you and your friends murdered _OUR_ son!"

I watch with vindictive pleasure as her face suddenly blanches at the mere mention of Noah. _God, it's priceless_.

"W-what?" her eyes widen as she idiotically stammers, failing miserably to come up with a witty rejoinder. Meanwhile the hand that had been buried in my hair releases its hold.

Sensing a moment of vulnerability in her, I go in for the kill. Raising my voice an angry octave or two I snarl at her, "Remember him? He was the life that grew inside your body for nine months. He was the little helpless baby you gave birth to only to callously abandon him when he needed you most! You were his _mother_, Claire! But I guess you've been too busy being a_ hero_ to give a shit about him, right?"

Tears have now sprung from her eyes as she violently shakes her head from side to side. Surprisingly, I'm not moved one iota by her supposed anguish since I've got plenty of my own to go around.

"Shut up, Gabriel, just please _shut up_," she miserably pleas. But Claire doesn't deserve my mercy, not today.

"How did it _feel_ to see him dead, Claire? Tell me…how does it feel to know _you_ killed our son? I think we both know who the _monster_ is now!"

Wracked by heaving sobs the woman before me suddenly collapses under the weight of my impassioned censure. Dropping to her knees onto the floor, I frigidly gawk at Claire as she shakily wraps her arms around herself in a gesture of self-comfort. But by all estimations her so-called grief comes too little too late and it only enrages me further. I offer her no relief from her pain. I give her no words of consolation as I stoically look upon the blubbering mess that was once my wife.

Pitifully she gasps and wheezes like an out of tune accordion as Claire tries to articulate, "I-it was an accident," she swears. "I-I didn't mean for that to h-happen. Oh, God Noah…"

Ferociously I roar, "Don't you _DARE_ say his name!" As my anger finally boils over, the world before my eyes is suddenly cast in a brilliant shade of red. I begin to quiver uncontrollably as if I were in the throes of a high fever. A film of sweat has just broken across my forehead while I mechanically grind my teeth together.

_Something_ is happening to me. I can feel it…but it's too soon to call.

Claire meanwhile flinches as if she had been physically struck. And despite the onslaught of the mysterious affliction trying to claim me I continue to berate her, "You don't have the _right_ – not after what you did." I fume, unconvinced by her not-so-stellar performance.

Vehemence roils inside me unabated as I continue to intensely glare at her. Maybe if I stare long enough, my eyes can bore their way into her skull to ascertain her true feelings. My nostrils flare out and the rise and fall of my chest steadily increases as I commence to hyperventilate. Alarmingly an unanticipated tingling sensation begins to slowly course it way through my body.

In the interim, she carries on with the waterworks in spite of my acerbic tone, leaving me to arrive at the unavoidable conclusion that I've had my fill of Claire's ridiculous theatrics.

Disgusted yet resigned, I tiredly sigh, "Just _kill_ me. Go ahead. It's what you've always wanted, right? I'd rather die than listen to another fucking minute of your incessant wailing."

Claire stops sniveling for a brief moment to look at me with bloodshot eyes. "What did you just say?"

"Don't be coy with me, sweetheart," I abruptly snap at her. "Pick up your gun and put a bullet in my brain. That is…if you still have the _stomach_ for it."

Shockingly she firmly says, "No."

_Fuck, just like a woman! First she wants to kill me and now she doesn't? Won't this ditzy chick ever make up her mind? _

I guess I'll have to do it for her. "Claire, listen very carefully. If you don't pick up that gun and kill me now, then you'll leave me no choice but to _kill you first_."

Now it was her turn to ridicule me, "Oh please, Gabe. In your condition you couldn't hurt a fly."

"But that's where you're wrong, _dead_ wrong," I tell her with what I hope is some confidence. "You see while you were busy running your mouth, telling me all about your little plan, I've been sitting here _playing possum_." I then punctuate that fallacy with a shaky smile.

_Hey, I'm not above conning her if it gets me what I want._

"You're lying," Claire states emphatically as her eyes drill themselves into mine trying her best to call my bluff.

But I've always had the better poker face.

"Are you sure about that, Claire-Bear? The Haitian's power did take me down for a bit. But I'm most certainly not out. As we speak I can actually feel my strength coming back to me." The latter part of that statement is not a lie, well not entirely.

The strange pulsing vibrations I've been experiencing during our little exchange have now begun to intensify, increasing in volume with each passing second. However, this isn't like the time when my powers were restored to me via some miracle cure after I'd grappled with the _Shanti Virus._ Of course, without my intuitive aptitude, I don't have the capacity to understand the reason behind or nature of this phenomenon.

But my gut instincts tell me that _whatever_ is transpiring my rage has to be fueling it. And dear Claire, it seems, might be in for a very nasty shock of her own.

Judging from the incredulous look in her eye, I can tell that Claire's is not quite swayed about my boastful claims. So I up the stakes and pray to God she'll take me up on my wager.

"Tell you what…let's see who's faster- you or my _telekinesis_."

Her eyes are suddenly as wide as saucers as I make a big show of extending my arm and flexing my fingers. And what happens next surprises us both…

Blindly I aim my once formidable appendage in Claire's general direction. And then without even _fucking trying_ a startling blue surge of electrical current is expelled from my fingertips. At first I'm dumbfounded…completely bowled over.

_Are my powers back or is this a dream_, I wonder- the skeptic in me still quells any hope for victory. Yet the sizzling blackened hole in the wall above Claire's head is no _hallucination_. Granted, my abilities may still be a bit muddled at the moment, considering I had called upon my TK and got Elle's electro kinesis instead. But hey, beggars can't be choosers.

And right now I'll take whatever I can get.

With her mouth agape, Claire's horror stricken eyes stare back at me. Astonishment has clearly taken a foothold over what I've just done. My gaze narrows in return as a slow malevolent grin carves its way across my face.

Time seems to have slowed itself down, as mere seconds now feel like hours. It's come down to a Mexican standoff. It's all very Clint Eastwood in way. Like those old Spaghetti Westerns, when at the end of the film the two seasoned gunslingers try to gauge one another to see who'll make the first move.

A sidelong glance assures me that the discarded gun still lays a few feet away from us. And there's no mistaking the intentional calculations behind Claire's eyes as she quickly measures time and distance. She means to dive for the weapon. No doubt in my mind - she's about to risk it all on the slim probability that my recent electrical discharge was conceivably a fluke.

Suddenly the passage of time resumes its normal course. And as predicted, Claire makes a move for the revolver by lunging headlong towards the .38 with a labored grunt. At that same moment, I sweep my already elevated arm, following her trajectory as she sails through the air. And when she finally lands on her belly, just seconds away from securing her weapon, I summon up my TK, with the full knowledge of the end result. Strangely enough, and for the second time today, a steady stream of brilliant azure streaks soar from my fingers swiftly finding their way into Claire's body.

Her blood-curdling screams are like a symphony to my ears as the white-hot energy continues to pour into her, searing Claire from the inside out. Sadistically, I marvel, delighted at the way she writhes and whips about the floor like a downed power cable after a storm.

This is _justice_, plain and simple- justice for me and more importantly for Noah.

The stench of burnt flesh fills the air as I carefully rise from the floor to stand on shaky legs. I allow for a brief interval from doling out the high voltage reckoning the _whore_ so rightly deserves to recover from the expenditure of energy.

"Hurts doesn't it, bitch?" I yell out over her unremitting screeching. Red hot blood has erupted from her eyes and mouth while her skin appears to be blackened and charred. Shuffling my feet, I hobble closer to the recipient of my vengeance.

"The pain you're feeling right now isn't even one-tenth of what you've caused me! I took everything from you? _Ha!_ That's a laugh. You have no idea what you've taken from me! When you _killed_ Noah, everything _human_ in me died with him! There's only the Hunger now. And it wants you to _DIE!_"

Miraculously, Claire has managed to stay alive long enough to plead for her life. "P-please, Gabriel! _S-s-s-stop!_"

Feeling incredibly rapacious I snarl, "You want me to stop? I'll stop…when you're nothing but a pile of _cinder!_"

Then without hesitation I lift up both of my arms, fingers inching with anticipation to deliver the final death blow.

Claire makes one last pitiful supplication to be spared, "G-Gabriel, please d-don't."

However, her begging falls on deaf ears as I ready myself to strike…

"STOP IT, GABRIEL…NOW!" a booming voice unexpectedly commands. That voice, so familiar and comforting in its timber, can only belong to one person- the man that I've called 'brother' for the last four years.

With arms still poised above Claire, I swiftly turn my head towards the laboratory entrance. Sure enough, there standing in the doorway is a dark figure dressed in black fatigues. And the angry scowl he now bears makes the telltale scar across his face look more pronounced.

There is no mistaking this man's identity…no matter how impossible or insane his presence may seem.

Bewildered by his sudden and astonishing manifestation, I lower my arms and whisper, "_Peter…how_?"

Amazingly Peter Petrelli (the right one this time) hastily strides toward me with purposeful steps. The sound of his steel-toed boots marching across the floor echoes off the walls of this place.

Finally he's standing before me. Clasping a hand upon my right shoulder he leans in to tell me, "It doesn't matter how, Gabe. There's no time for questions. This world is going to tear itself apart in a matter of days and I'm going to need help to stop that from happening!" The desperation in his tone is clearly evident.

"That's rich coming from _you!_" I spit out. "Take a look around, _Pete_. This world is already done for. There's no saving it and frankly I don't _care_."

Angered by my apathy Peter's hands grab the front of my sweater vest in an attempt to shake some sense into me. "Listen to me you arrogant prick! You may not give a shit about the billions of lives on this planet, but I do. I need your help, Gabriel _and_ Claire's too. We need to find the one person that can put an end to all this before it's too late."

Against my better judgment I decide to indulge his idealistic fantasies. "And who is this freakin' _messiah_?"

I grimace as I watch Peter's lips pull back into a semblance of a smile. He then triumphantly announces, "It's your son… _Noah_."

_TBC…_


	9. Chapter 9

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

**Chapter Nine**

_Gabriel Gray – Pinehearst Laboratories 23 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion _

"It's your son… _Noah_."

Silence reigns for a few agonizing heartbeats, while I allow Peter's implausible declaration to marinate for a bit. Then suddenly, and without any preamble, I rowdily throw my head way back in a fit boisterous laughter… and not just any laughter, mind you. This is a side-splitting, tear inducing, knee slapping series of guffaws that aspiring stand-up comics would _kill_ for.

I'm fully aware of how inappropriate, and dare I say, obnoxious the nature of my response might seem. Yet…the horrified expression of incredulous astonishment on Peter's face only fuels my hilarity, like fire to gasoline.

And knowing Peter, the way that I do, I'm pretty sure he thinks I've lost what's left of my mind by now.

Fair enough.

But when it comes to me, _everyone_ that's crossed my path (and survived) knows that appearances can be very _fucking_ deceiving. And the consequences of false impressions can be at times, shall we say…_deadly_.

However, my intentions at the moment are quite benign. That is if you take into account the fact that I want nothing more than to mock, condescend and ridicule the man that dared to utter such a preposterous claim in regards to my son.

Nevertheless, I feel a cacophony of chortles throw my gaunt body into a series of shuddering quakes as I continue to snort at Petrelli's expense.

Poor Peter, all this time, and the joke's still on him. "He's _dead_, Peter." I say between humorless sniggers. "You're too late to save anything or _anyone_."

Shaking his head, Pete repudiates my assertions with one of his own, "He's _alive_, Gabriel."

Abruptly I cease any signs of mirthless laughter. And then without any warning, my hands savagely lash out to claw at the front of his black shirt. Gathering up the rough material within the tight grasp of my fingers I use the last of my waning strength to thrash Peter's body around until he's brutally smashed against the nearest wall.

Next, I bend forward, presenting an angry scowl within a hairsbreadths' of Peter's stunned face. The Hunger is now fully aroused within me…I can _feel_ it snapping its jaws with ravenous need. Its heady call for blood and power tightly coils around the stem of my brain, as I snarl and growl like some ferocious beast. I feel driven, compelled even, to take and take and _take_ until there's _nothing_ left.

_But_…the remaining sliver of humanity still clinging to my otherwise primordial psyche, annoyingly insists to caution my "brother" in regards to my deadly intent.

Begrudgingly, I throw out a few words of caution before the descending reptilian mindset completely takes over, "Listen carefully, _Pete._"

Thanks to the repeated kicks and punches to my throat, my damaged larynx has transformed my voice into an unrecognizable rasp, making my words sound more lethal and significant.

"You….well the _other_ you, were with me in Costa Verde. And _he_ bore witness to what they _did_ to him! What _she _did to him!"

A cognitive flicker flashes momentarily within Peter's guarded gaze. He doesn't need me elaborate on the identity of "she".

Petrelli knows _exactly_ who I mean.

He remains warily motionless. However, his eyes betray the unruffled bearing he's trying to project. I observe, with great annoyance, how the hazel orbs dart about nervously until they finally land on the smoldering, charred remnants of his niece- his precious, fucking _Claire_.

Ah Peter, ever the bleeding-heart moralist. He's still trying so hard to be the hero, more importantly, _Claire's_ hero. Even with a terrorist label practically tattooed on his ass, he still _reeks_ of white knight. So selfless, so noble – it's downright _sickening_.

Angered by his concern over the woman that would give _anything_ to see us both dead, I decide to get his attention back on me. And I do when my hands sadistically shove him back even further into the wall.

_That does the trick. _

Petrelli once again makes me the center of his universe- as it should be. So I reward his obedience with a twisted grimace that in no way resembles the human smile I'm trying to emulate.

"Focus, Peter…that's right, eyes up here. _Forget_ Claire. Things are too far gone to save the cheerleader. I've seen to that, _brother_."

"Gabriel, _you're _the one that needs to listen!" Peter implores me.

"No, I _don't_! And if you value your life, you won't say another word."

My smile grows broader- excitedly I observe my quarry with rapacious purpose. Peter, meanwhile, grimaces under the laser-like precision of my intense scrutiny. He knows what's coming. His death, at my hands, is imminent. And there's not a _goddamn_ thing he can do about it.

Callously raising the dexterous index finger of my left hand, I aim it towards Peter's sweat beaded brow.

However, much to my dissatisfaction, I fail in the attempt to make the infamous incision that's become my calling card.

I've been _thwarted_ yet again by my treacherous body.

_FUCK!_

Peter knows this too. That much is evident by the fiery rage burning so brightly within the depths of his eyes. And I'm almost blinded by its radiant intensity.

And what happens next throws me even further for a loop, when to my complete astonishment, my battered body is violently thrust away from Peter. The unseen force that currently propels me I know all too well. It's my own weapon of choice - _telekinesis_.

And I learn very quickly that Peter Petrelli's command of my favorite power is quite formidable- almost equal to my own. You can imagine my absolute shock when I begin to soar through the air with the velocity of a _mis-_guided missile with just a twitch of his fingers. Letting out a mighty shout (born of sheer frustration) I find myself spiraling out of control- my arms and legs helplessly flailing about like a scarecrow in a tornado. My uncoordinated limbs try desperately to find purchase on an anchor of some sort. But it's no use.

This humiliating exercise seems to go on forever until I'm forced go into an abrupt crash landing against the unforgiving surface of the tiled floor. I groan as another unpleasant bout of pain floods my already abused body. I try to move but can't. It doesn't take me long to realize why. Peter is now using the TK he unleashed to hold me down.

Harried by this unexpected inconvenience and further motivated by revenge, I decide it's time for a reversal of fortune. It's my turn to summon up my own abilities to give Pete a taste of his own bitter medicine. Furrowing my brow, I concentrate, amassing all of my mental energy to bring forth one of my powers. _Any _ability at this point will do. I just need something, _anything_ to fight back with. But after moments of almost constipated straining flit by, it suddenly it dawns on me… my miraculous power boost is long gone.

_Well shit!_

"I'm sorry, Gabe," Peter says apologetically. "I didn't want to resort to violence. But you kind of brought this on yourself. _Now_ will you listen to me? Or do I have call on the big guns to make you?"

"Do I have a _fucking_ choice?" I bitterly spit back. The query, though, sounds muffled. It's probably due to the fact that the left side of my face is being telekinetically flattened onto the cold hard surface of the Pine-Sol scented floor.

"No." Peter's answer is straightforward … authoritative even.

_Well, looks like little "brother" finally grew a pair._

Briefly, he pauses before emitting the most profound sigh I've ever heard. And that's when it hits me: Peter Petrelli, one-time hero turned international terrorist has been burdened with the weight of world on his already fatigued shoulders.

"Noah is alive and I can take you to him. But first you have to let me heal Claire. Then I'll explain everything to you."

"You're _LYING_!" I shout as my thunderous voice echoes throughout the hushed offices and corridors that encompass the recently deserted _Pinehearst_ building.

"Am I, Gabe? Then tell me this, _brother_…why is it that both _Primatech_ and _Pinehearst_ left you alone to raise your son in peace until yesterday?"

Desperately, my mind quickly reels and turns, searching and sifting through catalogs of memories and thoughts until at last it finds the most obvious answer, "Because they knew I'd tear them apart if they tried to take him from me. I'd already lost Claire to _Pinehearst_. I wasn't about to lose Noah to those bastards too."

From the corner of my one seeing eye I watch Peter nod slightly in agreement, "That's partially true. But you're not seeing the bigger picture, Gabriel."

"Oh and just what might that be?"

Instead of clarifying his statement he makes a query of his own, "What did Arthur tell you about Mom's death?" his voice is soft, barely above a whisper.

From my squished position on the grimy flooring I grumble in annoyance, "_Another_ fucking question, Petey? I'm getting _really _sick and tired of this game you're playing. Just say what you've got to say."

Peter, to my great surprise, remains levelheaded in the presence of my acidic vitriol. Calmly, he carries on in an amicable conversational tone, as if nothing were amiss- like we're two old friends shooting the bull over a couple of brewskies instead of bitter adversaries.

"Whatever Arthur Petrelli may have told you about how Angela died is a complete lie."

"_No, shit, Sherlock_," I nastily scoff at him. "I found out a long time ago that _anything_ out of the mouths of that gruesome twosome would be total bullshit! Luckily for me, I learned that fact _before_ you or big brother, President Petrelli did.

Speaking of Nathan, I ran into his corpse on the way in here. Looks like your blast-from-past doppelganger got to him before I could. Too bad, I was really looking forward to _killing_ that righteous prick myself!"

_That does it_- the mere mention of his dearly departed sibling shatters Pete's composed veneer, as I knew it would. Ah, my _intuitive aptitude_ is still gloriously intact. I revel in the undeniable power that's allowed me to read Peter like a goddamn book. It was all too easy to hone in and exploit his most crippling weakness: _Nathan_.

"_ENOUGH_," he roars, clearly enraged by my insolence. Still maintaining the telekinetic grasp on my prone body, Peter viciously extends his power. Immobile and mortified, I can't do anything except offer a grunt of protest. Next, I feel the unwelcome sensation of invisible yet powerful fingers unceremoniously snap my mandibles close, effectively silencing my poisoned tongue.

"Now that I've shut your trap, you're going to listen to every word I say, whether you like or not!" Peter is seething, his hot Italian blood has reached its boiling point, I can tell. So I make the sensible decision (like I have any _fucking_ options) to lay here like a dead fish during low tide.

"But _first_ I'm going to heal Claire. She needs to hear this too. It's important that you _both_ know the truth once and for all.

_TBC…_

A/N: Okay, I know I haven't updated this in forever. And for that I'm so sorry. It's just that these last few months have been an emotional roller coaster for me since my brother died. I was also suffering from tremendous writer's block.

But my muse is finally back. So I'll try to keep up with this fic as well as "Strange New World".

Thank you all for your patience and for your PM's demanding I get my butt in gear and start writing again.

All the best,

Smithsbabe65


	10. Chapter 10

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

**Chapter Ten**

_Claire Bennet – Pinehearst Laboratories 23 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion_

_Pain-_ pure, unadulterated pain courses through my electrocuted body. I feel and acknowledge _nothing_ else. Agony imprisons me as its suffocating hold surrounds, penetrates and obliterates every living cell trying desperately to restore itself.

I'm in Hell and there's no escaping it.

Years ago, I would have given _anything_ to feel the slightest sensation. How I longed for just a twinge of awareness- the reassuring touch of someone's warm hand or the corporeal softness of a kiss against my skin. I missed the heat of a summer day and the tingling chill of a cold winter's morning. Both were a distant memory now.

Ironic then how my greatest wish has now become of my worst nightmare in the blink of an eye. And I have Sylar to thank for it all.

I'm faintly aware of the synapses of my frazzled brain launching urgent messages to nerve endings that had lain dormant and numb for years.

They're certainly alive now – blazing _hell_-_fire _that burns me through and through.

Meanwhile my other senses have been diminished, taken from me in a blue streak of bright light. With my eyes seared shut and my hearing gone, no sight or sound can infiltrate this wall of anguish. Blessedly, I can't smell either or I would have to be subjected to the disgusting odor of my own cooked flesh.

Presently I have no notion of what's happening around me. Only the pain speaks to me - constant and excruciating. And since I've been stripped of my regenerative powers, there'll be no respite for me.

So I resort to the next best thing: divine intervention. Gravely, I begin to pray to a God I don't even believe in. But here I am begging the _fucking_ Almighty, the Unseen Wonder, for a swift demise to arrest my suffering.

Over and over one lone thought rattles around in my head:

_Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop._

_Please make it stop. For FUCK'S sake make it STOP!_

Yet no matter how many times I replicate my pitiful litany, I'm given no relief from the torture. With prayers unanswered, charred flesh continues to sizzle, precious blood ebbs away from the damaged vascular vessels as the Grim Reaper slowly makes his approach.

_And thus ends the life of Claire Bennet, not with a bang but with a whimper. _

lllll

_Seconds, minutes, hours_- they all feel the same to me. I have no idea how long I've been in this state between life and death. I don't even know if I'm still conscious. All I do know is that any passage of time is _bad_ since it seems to prolong my misery instead of finishing it.

And just when I think I can't bear it anymore, the pain comes to a grinding halt.

_Just…like…that._ If I had any working fingers left, I would snap them right about now.

_Is it over?_ _Am I dead, really and truly dead, _I wonder curiously. Where's the white light then, or the choir of angels heralding my arrival to Paradise? Both it seems are conspicuously absent.

Meanwhile, there's a small part of me that hopes that I'm just moments away from whatever waits for me in Here-After. An even smaller part secretly wishes that somehow, someway that I'll get a glimpse of my son.

That's what my Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Prewitt always said. That when we die we would be greeted in Heaven by those we've lost throughout our lifetime.

If she's right, if what she preached is accurate, then I'm just a heartbeat away from facing my Noah. A little boy I condemned to die.

Suddenly, I'm afraid. You have no idea how much. And yet…if there's a chance, even the slightest opportunity to make amends, then God (if He does exist) will mercifully grant me a moment to make things right. After that I'll resign myself to the eternal castigation for my many, many sins.

_Mommy's sorry, baby, _I want to say desperately_. _

_I'm so sorry I hurt you, (that I killed you). I'm sorry, Noah for leaving you. _

_I'm so, so sorry…_

Would my words of contrition fall on deaf ears? Or will the child I birthed then _murdered_ find it in his tiny heart to absolve his wayward mother? Was I deserving of such forgiveness?

I had no answers, only doubt and self-loathing for the monster I allowed myself to become.

I soon realize though, that nothing has happened except the absence of pain. Why is this taking so long? Does Jehovah have a backlog or something?

Then the fabled white light finally makes its long awaited appearance. However, it's lacking in heavenly brilliance. Actually its candescence is rather dull, akin to the dim glow of fluorescent lighting.

Then that's when I hear it…the sound of a _voice_, faint and distant.

"But _first_ … heal Claire. …the truth once and for all," I hear it say. The message is garbled almost static-y in nature, words are strangely omitted reminding me of an old transistor radio broadcast fading in and out.

Moments later I sense the weight of someone's hand on my forehead. And in the next instant an unexpected yet familiar prickling starts to spread across the expanse of my skin, like a bothersome itch, marking its territory like some mad _conquistador. _

And when the tell-tale signs of regeneration start to kick in, I know that I'm a long way off from St. Peter and the Pearly Gates.

My body begins to quake violently as muscle and sinews are miraculously reconnected to bone. Skin once blackened and burnt, renews itself to its usual healthy peach glow. Meanwhile, I can feel the strength returning to my limbs as my vital organs start to function with the vigorous potency of an eternal 16 year-old.

Very soon, I'm fully flung back to the land of the living with a sharp gasp and a mighty jolt that rocks me to my very core.

Next, my eyes fly open, almost of their own accord, to assess my surroundings. Disappointment soon takes hold however, when I'm greeted by the unwelcomed, scarred visage of _another_ St. Peter- my terrorist uncle.

"I thought I _killed_ you." My voice comes across as a croaky whisper, signaling the fact that my vocal cords are still healing. Quickly I roll over onto my back to face the enemy head on.

"Didn't take," he responds curtly. He's probably still pissed that I shot him in cold blood at point blank range.

Then it hits me-I _failed_ at carrying out my mission. A mishap no doubt brought on by the death of the Haitian. It doesn't matter though.

It's a mistake that I plan to rectify now that I'm fully healed.

Yet before I can put said plan in motion, I'm immediately paralyzed from the neck down by the crippling affects of Peter's TK.

_God, how I HATE that ability and the loss of control as a result! _

"Now that I've got you and Sylar's _undivided_ attention," Peter says with a touch of self-righteousness, "I'm going to educate you _both_ on some facts."

"_SYLAR? _That bastard just tried to kill me! Let me go Peter_, right now_!"

"So you can what…finish him off? And when you're done, then you'll take me out too, right? I don't think so, Claire.

I have a better idea. You'll just lie there, like a good little assassin and _shut the fuck up before I make you_! The grown-ups are going to speak now. So you should listen up, _Cupcake_."

Naturally, I launch an immediate verbal protest against his terms and the use of the juvenile epithet. "Fuck you! You can't do this to me! _Release_ me now or I'll…."

The next words out of my mouth are summarily cut short by the unseen power clamping my lips together like a vise.

_It's impossible_, I think to myself. _How can he sustain that much energy to keep both me_ and_ Sylar down?_

Then the _raison d'être_ strikes me like Zeus' lightening bolt. How could I've been so stupid? It's plainly obvious now. He's boosting the telekinesis with Eric Doyle's puppetry.

_Clever-_ looks like _Peter the Power Repeater's_ picked up a few new tricks since he allowed that bomb to blow me to bits.

lllll

That was the day I first discovered that _my personal hero_ was actually the man behind all of the terrorist attacks against the Company and Pinehearst.

I'd been assigned to track down and dismantle an anonymous, faceless entity known only as _Rebel._ The word then, within the tightly nit circles of domestic and international intelligence agencies, was that this new threat was ten times worse than _Al-Qaeda. _

Further data revealed that this faction was suspected of being a tactical assault group comprised of both specials _and _ordinary humans. Their numbers were unknown, their powers immeasurable. Worst still they were organized, well funded and very, very dangerous.

On a more personal note, _Rebel _had brought about the death of my father, Noah Bennet.

When news of my dad's loss had reached me I swore vengeance. Enraged by the injustice of it all, I demanded an eye for an eye. And I vowed then and there to get it at the cost of _everything_ I'd held so dear.

Gabriel tried to get me to listen to reason. He begged me to think of him and our son.

Sadly, the only thing on my mind had been retribution. The rest be damned.

With my father gone, the Company's demise soon followed. There was only one place left to go. So I turned to the only person that could have understood my need for payback - my biological grandfather, Arthur Petrelli.

When I showed up on the ground floor of the Pinehearst building with nothing but the clothes on my back, Grandpa had welcomed me with open arms.

"Don't worry, Claire," he had reassured me in that gravelly voice of his. "You'll be well taken care of, I'll see to that."

I'd said nothing in return, though I tried to draw comfort from his words.

"I know why you're here," he continued unperturbed. "You did right to come to me. We're _family_, Claire. And family looks out for one another.

You want revenge? No problem. I'll make sure you receive all of the skills you'll need to make that happen. Remember, Claire you're a _Petrelli_, vengeance is in our blood."

With marriage and child abandoned, I wholly submitted myself to the grueling training at Pinehearst and all of resources my grandfather had to offer.

I welcomed it.

It was under Arthur Petrelli's tutelage that I became hard, callous and cunning. And while the disciplined instruction in the art of war me molded me into a fearsome combatant. It was my own invincibility that made me an unstoppable killing machine. I was transformed into the perfect warrior that no blade, bullet or explosive could annihilate.

And when Arthur had finally deemed me ready, I was unleashed upon the world.

lllll

Surprisingly, it didn't take me long to catch the enemy's scent. I'd quickly latched onto it, savoring its pungent tang like a bloodhound on the hunt.

I watched and waited, in high pursuit of the trail of tainted breadcrumbs each criminal activity had left behind. Precious clues that very soon had led me and my team straight to _Rebel's_ doorstep.

For the better part of year I'd been looking for a group of killers, _terrorists._

Imagine my surprise when, lo and behold, I'd found my dear Uncle Pete instead.

Very quickly I learned that he was not only a part of the illicit organization but its _de facto_ leader. What was left of my heart had shattered in that very moment.

"You _son-of-a-bitch,_ you killed my father!" I'd screeched into his face.

He begged me then. "Claire, you don't understand…please let me explain."

But it was too late for supplications, way too late. He might not have been the one to pull the trigger. Yet I still held him _fully _responsible for what happened, regardless of the circumstances.

I knew then what I had to do. My mission was clear.

Without hestiation, I drew my weapon, as did two of my agents, the German and Jesse. But as luck would have it, several of Peter's fellow insurgents had done the same. We immediately found ourselves outnumbered and out gunned. Yet, I was determined to take Peter out anyway I could.

As expected, a heated gun fight had soon ensued. The last thing I remember was diving for cover behind a toppled table while I tried to return fire as fast I could. Then in the melee of bullets, powers and confusion someone yelled out, "_BOMB_!" And then the world exploded in a dazzling display of fire and light exterminating every last soul that had resided in the derelict building.

Hours later, only two people had walked away from the blast. One of course had been yours truly. The other had fled the scene of the crime like the coward he is.

We ceased to be family on that day, Peter and I. Instead, we grew to be sworn enemies from that time forward.

lllll

And now if he thinks, for even a instant, that he's off the hook because of this whole _healing_ _thing_, then he's seriously mistaken. Nothing's changed. There'll be no reprieve, no truce between us.

He's still a traitor, a low down criminal that needs to be brought to justice that's long overdue.

Peter better watch his back. The minute it's turned, I'll kill him _again_ first chance I get. And so help me God, I'll find a way to make it stick this time.

Meanwhile, Peter seems very fucking pleased with himself. Clearly satisfied by my obligatory compliance to his demands, a twisted smile craves its way across his face, accentuating the disfigurement I put there.

I'm rather proud of that fact, but more on that later. Looks like Uncle Pete is about to bore me with his tale of woe.

"Okay you _lovebirds_," he says mockingly. "Let's bring Claire up to speed."

_Ugh, what's with all the nicknames, Sylar Jr.? _

"I know you'll probably find this hard to believe, Claire…but I _swear_ that what I'm about to say is the God's honest truth."

_Ha, the "truth"? That's rich coming from him. _Peter the Terrorist,_ the very same man that deceived and betrayed his own family is going to tell the truth? This outta be good._

After a very pregnant pause, Peter Petrelli decides right then to drop an even bigger bomb on me.

The Mother of All Bombs it seems…like the first one wasn't bad enough.

"I guess there's no easy way to say this. So here goes:_ Noah is still alive_," Peter dares to claim.

The implausible assertion is like a swift punch to the gut. And just as quickly, anger ignites the fire in my blood. I can almost feel the churning red tide rise to the surface of my skin, causing my face to burn hotly.

_Sick bastard! _I want to yell at him. _How dare you tell such a lie? Oh, you're sooooo gonna die!_

Robbed of motion and voice, frustration quickly sets in. The only thing left to me is the ability to growl behind my invisible gag. It's all I can do to show my condemnation.

Shockingly, I hear Sylar do the same. I guess we're finally in agreement about something: _Kill Peter Petrelli_.

Peter meanwhile, oblivious to his impending doom, continues to prattle on like he's reciting a recipe for sponge cake.

"Noah's not the only one that's alive…so is _Angela_."

This last revelation makes Sylar go ape-shit. It's evident by the frequency and volume of his unintelligible groans.

Peter tilts his head towards the noise, acknowledging Sylar's unspoken demand to have his voice restored.

"I guess you have some questions, huh?"

From the corner of my eye I detect Sylar nodding his head furiously in response.

"Okay, I'll remove the gag, but only if you promise to behave yourself. Same goes for you, Claire."

Minutes of hesitation tick by before I see my ex-husband give his consent to Peter's request with one last nod. I'm not so quick to agree. But after a few more seconds of uncertainty, I finally offer my sanction as well with a slow bob of my head.

Peter smiles before employing a simple hand gesture liberating us both from the muteness we've been forced to endure.

Not surprisingly, Sylar is the first to speak in that abrupt manner I know and hate so well.

"How is this even _possible_?" he brusquely asks. "Peter, Angela _died_ in a ski accident four years ago. The three us of were at her funeral, for Christ's sake!"

Unshaken by Sylar's assertions, Peter fired back with one of his own, "Yeah, we were. But let me ask you this: _did you see a body?_"

Before Sylar could respond I decide to join in the repartee. "Of course not, Peter. Don't you remember it was a _closed casket_ ceremony? Arthur said that the body couldn't be viewed due to her extensive injuries. "

"Yeah, Arthur said a lot of things. But I soon found out that _none_ of it was true"

Immediately I come to the defense of my grandfather whose memory is being maligned by his own son.

"How _dare_ you even speak his name, especially after what you did you _murderer?_ You killed your own father by putting a bullet in his brain! So you're no position to point any fingers."

In the face of my vitriol, Peter calmly shakes his head in apparent denial. "Oh Claire, you poor deluded girl, you're still his good little soldier, aren't you? If he were still around you'd follow his orders without question, wouldn't you?"

"If means I get to take out _scum_ like you, then you can bet your sweet ass I would!" I spit back with all the hatred I can muster.

Just then a clearly fed-up Sylar yells in a booming voice to high heaven, "Will the two of you just SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Shocked by the ferocity of Sylar's words Peter and I instantly quiet down.

"Look, Claire," he addresses me directly, "I get it, we all hate each other. And that's fine by me. I don't care about sparing anybody's feelings here!

But…if there's even a chance that _my_ son is still alive then I want to hear what Peter has to say!

If it's bullshit, then we all know how this is going the end, in a three-way blood bath. But if it isn't…then I'll _kill_ anyone that gets in the way of finding my boy, you got that? _Anyone_."

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to get the gist of the implied threat. And the even clearer implication that Noah is _his_ son alone isn't lost on me either.

And as much as it pains me, I have to side with Sylar on this one. If there's a grain of truth in what Peter has said about Noah then it couldn't hurt to hear his story.

With an exasperated sigh I say, "Fine."

Satisfied, Sylar then turns his attention back on my uncle. "Okay Petrelli, you've got the floor. Make this worth my time or so help me God I'll _peel _the flesh right off your bones."

"Yeah, promises, promises. We all know you're nothing but talk, Gabe," Peter scoffs in a brotherly manner. Judging from the sour expression on Sylar's face, he's not amused by the jovial attempt. I watch as his dark pitiless glare silently beckons Uncle Peter to get on with it.

Peter acquiesces to the wordless plea when he switches gears, down-shifting his voice into a more somber tone.

"All right then, here goes nothing. I know that Mom's alive because I dreamt of her. I've been dreaming of her for over a year."

At first, there's a dead calm as Peter takes a pause to assess our reaction.

Then I let him have it. "That's it? You had a _fucking dream_? You've got to be kidding me, right? All this cloak and dagger business, blowing up people to kingdom come was because you had a dream about your _dead_ mommy? Give me a goddamn break!"

"Be quiet, Claire," Sylar lashes out at me. "God, you really _are _blonde aren't you? Don't you get it? He _dreamt_ about Angela."

And that's when the sudden realization hits me with the force of a Mack truck.

_Oh, crap. My blonde roots MUST be showing._

_TBC…_

A/N: Okay, I know I'm an evil, horrid person for ending this on another cliffhanger. But before you crazy fan girls come looking for me with your pitchforks and torches, I _promise_ the next chapter will have more of those answers you're looking for.

And the good news is I've already starting writing chapter eleven! It should be up in another week or so. Besides, aren't you guys happy that my muse is alive and well?

SHE LIVES! SHE LIVES!

That means you'll get more chapters out of me. So it's a win, win!

I also wanted to thank _everyone_ for the overwhelming response I received for the last chapter. It was the best "welcome back" present I could have received. Your kind words of support and encouragement let me know that I was missed and that you really appreciate my work. So again, thank you from the bottom of my Heroes -Loving- Quinto- Stalking heart!


	11. Chapter 11

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

**Chapter Eleven**

_Claire Bennet – Pinehearst Laboratories 23 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion_

"…He _dreamt_ about Angela," Sylar gruffly emphasizes.

That's when sudden realization hits me with the force of a Mack truck.

_Oh, crap. My blonde roots MUST be showing._

lllll

I turn a wary gaze toward Peter. Yet instead of the cocky smirk I expect to find, I encounter a gentle smile gracing his marred face.

"You understand now, don't you Claire?" he asks of me.

"Y-yes, I think I do," I answer in return. "Angela's power was the first one you absorbed after you manifested, right?"

"That's right."

Proving once more that patience is not one of his strong suits -Sylar interjects with about as much tact as a chainsaw.

"What did you dream, Peter?" His animalistic growl is meant to intimidate and garner direct obedience.

But with Peter, it's a wasted effort since he holds all the cards in this game of high stakes.

"We'll get to that in a minute, Gabe. There are a couple of things I want to go over first…"

"Look, my patience is wearing _real_ thin here," I suddenly announce. "Stop dragging your feet on this and just tell us already!"

"Okay, Claire. You win. But I gotta warn you that you're about to hear isn't going to be pretty. Not by a long shot. Everything you _think_ you know about your life is about to be turned upside-down."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it, Petrelli. Just get on with it. Claire's isn't the only one loosing her patience."

"Alright then, Gabriel, here goes…every night for the last year I've dreamt the same dream. I see Mom in what appears to be a hospital or some kind of medical facility, lying on a bed. She's unconscious, with all kinds of tubes running in and out of her body. It's like she's connected to a life support machine. Ma just lies there, like a vegetable, unmoving with her eyes closed.

Then I feel a soft hand touch my shoulder. I'm forced to turn around and that's when I see _her. _It's Mom again, as she was before the accident, strong and capable.

It's weird because I know that can't be possible.

'You're dead, Ma,' I remind her.

She only smiles and shakes her head. Then she speaks to me in that quiet way of hers that puts everyone on guard. 'I'm being held against my will, son. I'm a prisoner, _his_ prisoner and he'll never let me go.'

'What do you mean? Whose prisoner are you?' I ask her impatiently.

'Turn around, Peter. Someone is waiting for you to save him. You _must_ save him or all is lost.'

I do as she says. Slowly I turn and that's when I see _him_."

Right at that moment I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. "Who is it Peter? Who do you see in your dream?" I ask already knowing the answer to my question.

"I see Noah." Peter states resolutely.

Sylar, judging from the expression on his face, is awestruck. Yet he still gathers enough strength to solicit the next question, "What else do you see, Pete? What happens to Noah in your dream?"

Peter hesitates then, as if he's finding the courage to reveal what comes next.

"I see how my misguided attempts to change the past contributed to the events leading up to the explosion. I try and try again to stop it from happening. But no matter what I've done to prevent the catastrophe, it's of no use…Costa Verde is destroyed anyway, like it was _meant_ to happen.

Then seconds later the scene shifts revealing what happens _afterward_.

As incredible as it soundsI'm shown that_ four_ people regenerated after you went nuclear, Gabe, not three."

I start to feel really anxious, desperate even. And the want- _no scratch that_- the _need_ to know more pushes me to express my thirst for knowledge with an indignant cry, "What in hell do you mean by _four people_? There were only three us in that house with my power unless…"

"...Noah manifested before he was killed," Sylar deduces with a scratchy whisper.

I'm too dumbfounded to speak in the face of this latest disclosure.

However, my mind is spinning -a whirlwind of questions I cannot give voice to -

_What? Oh my God! Angela AND Noah are both alive? Where are they now? How can we find them?_

Sylar on the other hand is very vocal about wanting more answers- _NOW_. "Peter, if you know where my son is, you've got about five seconds to tell me before I tear this place apart!"

"You and what army, bro," Peter scoffs. "You've been neutralized for the time being, so retract your claws, Wolverine."

Angered by my uncle's capacity to still jest at a time like this, I spit out venomously, "Really Peter? An _X_-_Men_ reference, how lame is that? I thought you stopped reading comics when you became a fanatical _terrorist_!"

"You still don't get it, do you Claire? Things aren't what they seem. You've been _lied_ to, sweetheart. It's been happening for a very long time- all your life apparently. Fuck, we've all been bamboozled at one time or another, just ask your husband."

"That's _ex_-husband," Sylar and I remind Peter in resounding unison. There's no doubt that we're both quite happy about the dissolution our marital union.

"Semantics…whatever, I don't care. The point is that it wasn't too long ago that Gabriel and I were led to believe we were _brothers._

Luckily for the two of you it turned out to be a big hoax, otherwise screwing each other would have been illegal in almost all 50 states except maybe West Virginia."

I'm immediately disgusted by the memory. "Yeah, don't _remind_ me. It's bad enough that I slept with this guy in the first place. I sure as hell didn't need to add _incest_ to my list of mistakes."

"Oh, you _loved_ every minute of it, sweetheart," Sylar nastily cuts in.

To my great happiness, Peter quickly brings chaos back to order by slapping an invisible muzzle back on Sylar with a casual wave of his hand. Thankfully I still have the presence of mind to keep my own yap shut before he does the same to me.

The ensuing silence, it seems, brings Peter some much needed relief. After a brief pause he then carries on without further interruptions. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is this: the Company was willing to go to great lengths to keep you two apart. Why?"

"I don't know, _Mr. Wizard_, why don't you enlighten us?" I fire back maliciously, every word drips with venom.

"Because your son, _yours and Gabriel's_, can either end this world or save it, that's why!"

My voice fails me, words escape me as I try to fathom with the significance of what I've just heard my uncle say.

Finally I manage to squeak out, "I-I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Noah is the most powerful of us all. His birth had been preordained for decades by countless pre-cogs long before my mother. And his power has been eagerly awaited by many that wish to exploit it for their own twisted benefit.

And that's why Noah Bennet tried his damnedest to keep him from even being conceived in the first place. He didn't want any child of Sylar's to fall into the wrong hands. And he sure as fuck didn't want his precious daughter to be defiled by his greatest foe.

My mother though had seen things differently. She'd had another vision of this child and immediately saw him for what he truly is, as a symbol of hope and the key to mankind's salvation.

So Angela did what she does best. She lied, manipulated and conspired against Noah Bennet. You remember that phone call you got from her, don't you Claire?"

How could I possibly not recall that damned conversation, the one that started the ball rolling and changed my life for the worse? It had also been the last time I'd spoken to the woman before her accident.

With a shaky tone I timidly answer, "I-I guess I do."

Yeah, how could I forget? That was the night I'd snuck onto the Hartsdale facility grounds intent on confronting Sylar about what I found in our mutual dossiers. It was also the night that our son was conceived, right there in Sylar's cell on Level 5.

lllll

_Primatech –Hartsdale, New York 4-years earlier…_

"You may be total _whack job_. But you've never lied to me. Now I want you to tell me _exactly_ what happened between you and my Dad."

At first, the fiend I had just roused out of his sleep could only stare out at me from behind the bullet-proof Plexiglas window of his cage with owlish eyes. Despite the grogginess that had still enveloped him, the curiosity contained within Sylar's heavy gaze was evident. Yet he chose to remain silent clearly waiting for me to reveal the reason for my unexpected appearance.

"Tell me, Sylar," I demanded with the same authoritative tone I've heard my Dad use a thousand times over.

With a profound sigh, my enemy conceded to my request for the truth. "Fine, Claire. You wanna know what your _precious_ daddy did?"

"Yes, I do," I said with some finality knowing full well that we've both reached the point of no return.

"Okay, don't say I didn't warn you," Sylar declared with feigned concern. "Noah thought it might be fun to take his revenge out on me after what happened with Canfield.

I suppose your old man was mighty pissed about the fact that poor Stephen decided to end his own life instead of taking mine. Add to that the things I said to you in the car. I guess you could say that I revealed certain _truths_ that may have hit too close to home."

That last proclamation had earned him the infamous Claire Bennet Eye Roll for stating the obvious.

Teen-aged antics aside, Sylar continued with his account of recent events, "Anyway, when we got back here, he had his buddy, the Haitian, dampen my abilities so your dad could beat the living crap out of me."

It was at that moment that I rose my hands up and angrily slapped the damning file against the glass partition. "I already know all that, _genius_! Angela told me all about it. What I need to know is if any of the stuff in this folder true. What happened to you three weeks _after _the first eclipse?"

I watched as Sylar's prone body suddenly became taut with anger as he lay upon his bed. His gaze meanwhile gradually hardened into twin pinpoints of flint-like suspicion as he honed in on the worn manila sleeve. No doubt he was recalling the attempted suicide that was thwarted by the scheming Elle Bishop and the events that followed that drove him to kill again. All of which were orchestrated by my dear old Dad.

When Sylar spoke again, his voice had taken on that quiet even tone that always belied the seething rage underneath. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because if what this file contains is true, then you and I are still being manipulated by the Company, like we've _always_ been since the very beginning."

Sylar abruptly sat up from his mattress then swung his long powerful legs over the side. He then fully rose from his surprisingly comfy looking bed with the sinewy grace of lethal puma. And in just two imposing strides he'd quickly closed the expanse between him and me. The only thing that separated us was the clear wall of reinforced plastic.

With cautious eyes I observed as he placed his left hand up against the window in the very spot where the file still rested upon the pane. It was as if he were trying to reach for it. For a minute or two I almost believed he'd try to pull it through the thick barrier with his TK.

Instead the palm of his hand remained flattened upon the cool clear surface while his dark haunted eyes intensely stared into mine. "_Manipulate_? What do you mean by that?" he asked anxiously.

With a confident little smirk I cruelly responded, "Angela told me something tonight, something that made my skin crawl! She had the nerve to claim that you, the same bastard that _terrorized_ my entire fucking family and literally _ripped_ my power out of my head, are another long lost Petrelli, just like me.

Naturally, I could never believe that I'm even remotely related to _you_. And now come to think of it, my grandmother knew this too. She also knew that I'd go looking for the truth. Hell, she even told me _where_ to look – in my Dad's old files."

Sylar's expression took on a half-crazed appearance while his eyes darted about madly in a desperate attempt to make sense of what I was telling him.

Even from the other side of the divider I could sense his fear. And yet he still dared to ask, "What does it say, Claire? Please tell me." He sounded so defeated and appeared so pathetic that for a moment I actually took pity on the son-of-a-bitch.

"_Gabriel_," I began. The shock in his otherwise dark foreboding gaze when he heard his given name uttered from my lips surely matched my own. Surprisingly, by speaking his true name for the first time out loud, it had somehow humanized him in my eyes.

I knew then that I had to proceed with caution. I held a man's life in my tiny hands as well as my own. Swallowing deeply, I carefully pushed forward, "You were led to believe that you're the son of Angela and Arthur Petrelli when nothing could be further from the truth."

There, I said it. Now I counted down from ten as I waited for the fireworks to start. I totally expected for Sylar to go into a full-scale frenzy by making mincemeat out of the meager furnishings in his cell.

Instead he demonstrated complete restraint as he dejectedly inquired, "Who are my parents then, Virginia and Martin Gray?"

I hesitated for a few seconds because quite frankly I was fascinated by the look of absolute wretchedness upon his handsome features.

_Back the fuck up! Did I just really think that? Since when did I think that _Sylar,_ of all people, was handsome? _

Okay, I'll admit, to a certain point, that he did exude a certain kind of dark appeal that screamed "look but DO NOT TOUCH." With his Black Irish looks, devil-may-care attitude with just a pinch sociopathic behavior, Sylar was the living breathing embodiment of the man that _every_ girl's mother had warned her about.

He was the ultimate bad boy. And as much as I tried to resist his ominous magnetism I found myself staring at him a bit more than a girl in her right mind ought to do. A spell had been cast and I had to do something to break it.

So I forced my hormonally addled mind to dredge up all the terrible things he had recently done to me and those I cared about. When those horrific images replayed in my head only then did I feel safe.

Drawing a deep cleansing breath I finally latched onto that Bennet resolve that served me so well in the past. Slowly I lowered the folder away from the window. I then stuffed it back into my book bag and zipped it closed.

Turning my head I looked him square in the eye as I at last replied, "The file says that Virginia and Martin Gray are your _adoptive_ parents. Actually Martin Gray is your paternal uncle. Your real father is a man named Samson, Martin's younger brother."

"And my mother, my _real_ mother – what does the file say about her?" Sylar asked as I felt the weight of his stare upon me.

I dreaded giving him this next answer. But I knew that if I didn't reveal it Sylar would have found a way to tear it out of me.

Clearing my throat did nothing to help the stammering response that was purged from my lips. "S-she died," I stated simply in the hopes that my reply would have brought an end to his curiosity.

To my detriment, however, Sylar turned out to be an inquisitive little monkey. "_How_ did she die?"

At first I refused to answer. I didn't want to be the messenger of that bad bit of news. Messengers got shot and in Sylar's case possibly dismembered.

"_Claire,_ answer me," he asked again, this time infusing the right amount of menace in his tone.

Again fear made me tongue-tied as the terrible words tumbled out of my mouth, "She was k-killed…m-m-murdered by your father, Samson when you were just five years-old. He then sold you to his brother and his wife for an undisclosed sum of cash."

Right then and there Sylar did something so totally unexpected it had taken my breath away.

He started to cry.

To say the least I was _stunned_. I didn't think that a monster like him was even capable of producing human tears. But there they were, wet and glistening, tell-tale signs of his grief and anguish.

Of course he tried his best to hide this fact by immediately turning away from me. But I could tell that he was still sobbing by the way his shoulders shook.

Then just as suddenly he whirled back around with teeth bared and nostrils flaring as he brought his angry fists to the window and started pounding away. With every forceful strike of the glass I flinched as I watched his hands start to crack and bleed before my stolen power kicked in to heal them. I have to admit that it was kinda of freaky to see my own ability from that perspective.

"Why, Claire?" he snarled at me. "Why did you come here? To gloat about how _fucked up_ I am and rub your picture perfect life in my face? Well take a good look, here I am! The freak that nobody wanted, the monster, the fucking Boogey Man! That's all I am to you, to all of you! Just a thing, a sub-human waste of space to be sold, used and _lied_ to! Well no more, you hear me! I'm breaking out of here right now and I'm going to slice my way through your family starting with that _lying bitch_ Angela Petrelli!" This time he hit the Plexiglas so hard it had splintered, creating jagged cracks every-which-way.

"No wait! Sylar listen to me. The reason I came down here is because _I_ was lied to, just like you! I found my file too. But unlike yours mine's been mostly blacked out."

Sylar halted his assault on the window as his eyes widened with surprise. "What? Why would they keep a file on you? You're their golden girl, the one that's prized above all other specials," he sneered with contempt.

"I'm also the illegitimate daughter of a U.S. Senator, Sylar. Don't forget that," I reminded him. "But the real question is why does _your_ file detail every aspect of your life while mine has huge gaping holes in it? There are entire sections of my childhood that are completely wiped out. Why is that? What is the Company trying to hide about me?

Primatech, with my Dad leading the charge, has done everything in their power to influence the outcome of _both_ our lives. Think about it. They had the very man that raised me turn you into a killer making us mortal enemies as a result. You think that was a twist of fate? After reading everything I that have, I don't believe in coincidences, not anymore."

Tilting his head to the side, Sylar's bloodshot eyes narrowed, doubt written all over his pallid face. "And how do I know that _you're_ not lying? What if this is some trick of Bennet's to use you to lure me out so he can kill me?"

Throwing my shoulders back, I tried to stand as tall as my 5' 2" frame allowed me. Then casting an unflinching glare at him I pronounced resolutely, "Because we're the _same_, Gabriel. And I'm going to prove it to you."

Before he could say another word, I quickly fished out my Dad's stolen key card from the front left pocket my jeans. Then to Sylar's amazement he watched as I swiped it through the security slot to his cell. When the light turned from red to green and the door slid open, I stepped into the lion's den ready to carry out an act of bravery or a fool's errand.

Either way, I was determined to get Sylar on my side. I needed answers and more importantly I needed an ally. Who better than the very man that tried to cleave his own answers right out of my skull? Everyone else had lied to me, kept things from me all my fucking life, Noah Bennet especially.

"It's for your good, Claire," my Dad had sworn. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

_Look how safe I am now, Dad, _my mind raged_. I'm right where you never wanted me to be. Are the cameras on? I sure as hell hope so because you're about to get an eyeful, you miserable lying bastard! _

Throwing my book bag to the floor at Sylar's bare feet, I cursed inwardly as I thought of all of the uncertainty of the past few months. The discovery of my ability and the fear I felt. Add to that the frustration of not knowing where I came from, what my origins were only to find out later that I was a dirty little secret, the result of some rich man's folly to be hidden away from the world. Unwanted and cast aside, I was unceremoniously dumped into the lap of a nefarious Company agent that ultimately justified every deceitful act he carried out in my name to a father's love and protection.

_Damn him. Damn them ALL!_

That's when it came to me like an epiphany from God. And I decided at that very moment to do the _unthinkable._

Meanwhile, Sylar had remained stock-still, watching my every move like a guarded sentry. A hint of amusement mixed with a splash of curiosity had graced his face as I waged my internal battles. It was clear that he didn't know what to make of me. So you can imagine his complete surprise when I suddenly launched myself into his reluctant arms.

"_Claire_, what are you doing! Have you lost your mi…?" I didn't let him finish his indignant cry. How could he when I had crushed my inexperienced lips to his? I was in a frenzied state by this point, fueled by anger and the burning need for revenge. It never occurred to me to stop, that what I was doing was wrong. I only knew that I wanted to make the pain and the loneliness go away, even if it was for a little while.

Sylar it seemed had more sense, being the older and somewhat wiser of us two. And despite my Kung-Fu grip, he had somehow managed to push me away.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You think you can come here and play kissy face? I'm a _man_, Claire, not some high-school jock you can tease. You're playing with _fire_ little girl. Go home before you get _burned_."

Undeterred by his initial rejection I attacked him again like a rabid capuchin monkey, peppering big wet sloppy kisses all over his astonished face as my arms went around his middle and my tremulous hands slipped up his back. That's when I realized that he was too damned tall and of course I'm a freaking midget. The angle was all wrong, even on my tippy toes. And it was beginning to put an awful crick in my neck trying to compensate for our height difference.

So I decided to do something about it.

I uncurled my groping arms from around his slim waist then removed my lips from Sylar's beleaguered face and neck. Then gathering up all of the strength of my athletically trained body, I soundly smacked both of my palms onto his broad chest and pushed him hard towards the waiting bed.

Within seconds his back had landed onto the mattress with a great thud while I made quick work to straddle myself on top of Sylar's prone form. Now that he was trapped between my denim clad thighs, again I assaulted his mouth and the clean smelling skin of his throat where I felt his pulse jump with excitement. And my nipples hardened as a result.

I was turned on, that much I discerned from the warm tight feeling that had started to coil low in my belly before it glided down to settle in my nether regions. But I was also painfully aware that I was a total newbie at this whole sex thing. Not sure where to put my hands I entangled the fingers of my right one into his silky dark hair. And I was immediately startled by the fact that it wasn't the greasy rat's nest I had imagined it would be. My left hand meanwhile began to awkwardly caress one of his shoulders until a very male moan emboldened me to move the curious appendage to a bulging bicep.

_My, my Mr. Gray-work out much? _

Thanks to my enthusiastic attentions, Sylar commenced to grudgingly return my ardor. After awhile though, his kisses became deeper, more passionate as I felt him place his big hands on the curve my ass. And when he finally opened his mouth to emit a groan of pleasure, I decided to experiment a bit. So I slipped him some tongue.

To say that the man was _shaken_ by my daring maneuver would have been the understatement of the year. Thrashing around like mid-summer twister, he tried like hell to pry me off of him. But I held on tight like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. Blame my Texas upbringing but I wasn't about to lose this rodeo.

"Stop, Claire," he begged.

"No", I murmured between kisses.

"I don't want to hurt you." He tried again to get me to listen to reason.

"Too late, Sylar, you already did. Now shut up and kiss me damn it!" I had insisted as I peered at him through a lustful haze. God, he looked so sexy right then with his tousled hair, five o'clock shadow and those delectable lips that were just made for driving women crazy.

I wanted to dive right back in for another taste.

But before I could steal another kiss, Sylar surprised me when he roughly grabbed one of my wrists and wrenched my hand southward in the direction of his crotch. I gasped loudly when he firmly placed my small hand up against his throbbing groin. And instantaneously two things were made abundantly clear:

One- That was the _biggest_ male bulge I'd ever felt through someone's pants in all my 16-years. Mind you I'd only felt two others at that point in my life. But Zach was gay, so that didn't count. And West was flying eunuch and a bad kisser.

Two- Sylar was going commando. _Oh my God!_

Suddenly everything became very real for me. There I was, splayed like a starfish on top of a man I'd sworn to hate, with my hand on his dick. Realizing what I'd just done, I quickly pulled my hand back as if it had just been burned on a very hot stove.

After a few seconds of humiliation tick by, I dared to look at Sylar. I'm disgraced even further when I found him staring intently at me with one of those caterpillar eyebrows cocked upward and that fucking smirk on his lips.

"See, Claire-Bear? I'm no push-over or some teenaged boy you can leave with a case of blue balls and call it a day. I may be a monster. But make no mistake- I'm a man first with a man's needs, just like everybody else. And if you persist to take this game of yours any further, I _will _take what I want. And no crying or pleading from you will stop me, do you understand?"

I understood, perfectly. In his own psychotically gallant way, Sylar was trying to give me an out. Admittedly, what was happening between us was not a game. This was serious business and if I decided to go through with it, it would irrevocably change everything.

_Fuck it_, I thought. _Maybe it's time to shake things up, to show everyone that they can no longer mess with my life. I'm taking control now, I make the decisions of what happens to me from here on out. This will be my declaration of independence so let the fireworks begin! _

With my mind made up I leaned back, grabbed the hem of my _Green Day_ T-shirt and pulled it over my head leaving me clad in only my white cotton bra from the waist up.

With his hungry eyes upon me Sylar made one final appeal. "Are you sure, Claire?" he huskily whispered to me. "Because if we do this, there's no turning back. If you give yourself to me, you'll become mine and I won't let you go…_ever_._"_

I bent forward then to place a warm hand upon his stubble-laden cheek. Looking resolutely into the dark depths of his eyes I said, "Gabriel, I meant what I told you earlier. We're the same, you and I. We have been abandoned, adopted and misunderstood by both our families. Hell, our fathers are both cold-blooded killers and lying sacks of shit. But you know what the most important thing we have in common is?"

Just then he covered my hand with his own in a gesture of genuine affection. Closing his beautiful brown eyes, his face took on the guise of true vulnerability. And I think it was at that moment that I fell in love with him, or at least in lust.

With a soft whimper he asked, "And what's that, Claire?"

I smiled right then as I gave him my reply, "We can never die. And long after everybody's bones have turned to dust, we'll still be here. And we won't ever have to be alone again."

"Oh, Claire!" he cried as he quickly reached out to gather me into his strong arms. Crushing me to his body, this time it was his turn to smother me with hot, searing kisses. I sighed contentedly as his soft lips touched each of my eyelids, the tip of my nose and finally my eager mouth as he turned us over so that I was lying under him.

Drawing away from my clinging mouth, he looked down at me as he tucked a few stray strands of my then golden hair behind my ear.

"Before we do this I want to tell you something…" he began earnestly.

"…Don't. I already know that you're sorry for what you did. I knew it that day at the Canfield's when you saved me from the vortex. It's okay, Gabriel, I know now you couldn't help yourself. It was the Hunger that compelled you to…you know…perform brain surgery, for lack of a better term.

And if my Dad hadn't egged you on, forced your hand, then none of this would have happened in the first place. So he's to blame as much as you, even more so, if you ask me."

He smiled then and it was the most gorgeous sight I'd ever seen. This wasn't the evil grin of the devil incarnate or some lecherous pervert. No, this expression encompassed a genuine happiness and a desperate hope that I had long suspected Sylar had never truly experienced before. The man was beaming, practically glowing and it made me proud to know I was the cause.

"Thank you, Ms. Bennet," he commenced with a hint of joviality in his tone. "But…that's NOT was I was going to say."

Astonished by his admission my eyes flew open. "Oh, yeah," I challenged, "Then what is it then?"

With a long index finger pointed directly at my chest, he wiggled it slowly making two slicing motions in the air. I realized then that he had just slashed the straps of my bra. And before I could actually object he moved that same deadly digit in a quick downward gesture, effectively splitting what was left of my cotton brassier in two.

Next he decided to use his bare hands to remove the damaged undergarment from my now shivering body so he could cup my naked breasts in the process. He then ran the calloused pad of his thumb across my left nipple which made me groan with need.

Sylar finally declared, "What I wanted to say is this: I'm _so_ fucking glad I'm not your uncle or this would be downright awkward."

For about half a second I wanted to punch him! Instead I gave him a cheeky little smile and demanded, "Gabriel, just shut the fuck up and kiss me!"

"Yes ma'am!" he said with a wicked glint in his eye. And he did just as I asked and then some.

_TBC…_

A/N: Okay, I know it's been awhile since I've updated this, so I wanted to tantalize you with the start of the first love scene of many in this story between Sylar and Claire. Don't worry, part two in being written as I type this so hopefully you won't have to wait too much longer for some Sylaire smut.

Just a word of caution, I tend to be quite graphic so if that's not your cup of tea, I suggest you skip the next chapter. And if you're wondering why Claire has been allowed to seduce Sylar without the Primatech cavalry charging in to save the day…let's just say that a certain matriarch arranged for security to look the other way…

And for those of you that have been nipping at my heels for an update for "A Strange New World", the new chapter is coming soon, I promise!


	12. Chapter 12

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

A/N: Thanks for everyone that's reviewed or added this story to their alerts and favorites. And special thank you to Vespaer, who encouraged me to write again.

WARNING: First, this chapter contains depictions of a sexual and graphic nature. If this is not for you, then avert your eyes. All others are welcome to join in the debauchery.

Secondly, this installment is _all_ flashback told from Claire's POV.

**Chapter Twelve**

_Claire Bennet - Primatech Hartsdale, New York 4-years earlier…_

"Gabriel, just shut the fuck up and kiss me!"

"Yes ma'am!" he said with a wicked glint in his eye. And he did just as I asked and then some.

He immediately captured my already swollen lips with the _sang-froid_ of a victorious conqueror taking what had been rightfully won. And I, the vanquished, surrendered completely granting him full access into the moist warmth of my mouth. My breath hitched when I felt him spear his tongue, straight and true, into my oral cavity. Then without hesitation, Gabriel masterfully engaged my own wet muscle to join with his. I knew in that moment that I had been given a clear invitation to the dance - that wonderfully strange and ancient ritual performed by all lovers for eons of time.

Meanwhile, his large manly hands began to knead each of my breasts in turn as he continued to stupefy me with his hot soul-stealing kisses. Gabriel languidly massaged my willing flesh, pressing his fingers around the soft rounded protuberances until he finally took a taut pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger to give it a little pinch. This unexpected pleasure provoked a whimper of approval from me as my back slightly bowed off the mattress. He was already wrecking havoc with my senses, slowly driving me out of my mind and I liked it – I liked it a lot.

Gradually, he separated himself from my lips only to reverently place gentle loving kisses on the smooth skin of my brow. I kept my eyes shut tight as my body savored each new sensation. Softly I mewled as his supple lips lightly touched the closed lids of my eyes followed by the flushed apples of my cheeks. Feeling drunk with pleasure, my mouth fell open to allow a contented sigh to slip past my parted lips.

His eager mouth continued trailing southward until it briefly brushed past my lips to press itself against my quivering chin followed by the underside of my right jaw. The seemingly endless barrage of light feathery touches had managed to set my entire body ablaze.

He was toying with me, with a perfected technique of methodical seduction, the _bastard_. And it had become abundantly clear that Gabriel enjoyed doling out pleasure just as much as he did administering pain. It was _maddening_. I wanted to get him back somehow for the merciless attack to my senses. Yet, I had _no _clue how to retaliate to his lustful assaults. So I decided to just lie back and enjoy the ride.

"So beautiful," he suddenly crooned. The moment I felt the sinful sensation of that sexy rumbling voice vibrating against the skin of my décolletage, I started panting like Pavlov's Dog.

Next, Gabriel started to hungrily lave my throat with open mouthed kisses while one of his hands moved away from my heaving bosom to gradually snake its way down between my breasts until it came to rest on the flat expanse of my belly.

"You're so god-damned _perfect_," he achingly moaned. My response had been a helpless high-pitched whine as those long wonderful fingers caressed the tight muscles of my abdomen in a slow circular motion reminiscent to the winding of a clock.

And while his passionate words were greatly appreciated, for some unknown reason they made me very nervous all of sudden.

That's when the stark reality of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks.

Here I was, just two months shy of my 17th birthday, barely a senior in high school for crap's sake. And I was about get down and dirty with a guy that was nearly 12 years older than me. Gabriel Gray was a grown-ass man who had no doubt bedded countless of _older _and more _experienced_ women.

And let's face it- this was also the man who just two short weeks ago had become intimately acquainted with the anterior lobe of my cerebrum while he fingered my medulla oblongata.

As unwelcome thoughts of insecurity eroded what was left of my self-esteem, my body tensed as a result. I suddenly felt incredibly stupid and wholly inadequate. The awful truth had been staring me in the face. And no amount of hormonal enthusiasm was going to compensate for the fact I was a _virgin_ facing the daunting task of pleasing someone with greater carnal knowledge than me.

Apprehensively, I scoffed at his unwarranted praise in an attempt to mask my fears.

"I'm _not_ perfect, Gabriel. I can't multitask to save my life. I'm the most disorganized person you'll ever meet. You've seen my room, total disaster right? And according to my brother Lyle I snore like a lumberjack."

His innate perceptiveness no doubt detected my reservations and uneasy tension. Stirring away from the crook my neck, Sylar propped half of his body up on a bent elbow to hover above me. The concern in his eyes was unmistakable as he tenderly placed his free hand on the side of my face. "Claire, you're _rambling_. Are you still okay with this?"

I sighed in frustration before I answered him, "Believe me when I tell you, that right now I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone in my whole life. _But_…I'm scared too. The closest I ever got to doing _IT_ was when some moron tried to rape me after a football game."

It took a full minute for the words to finally register. But when they did…oh Lordy, it was a sight to behold.

"_**WHAT?**_"

I watched in horror as his features morphed from the caring expression of an attentive lover to the vengeful mien of the avenging angel who was his namesake. "Who is he, Claire? Give me his name! How _dare_ that son-of-a-bitch touch you like that?"

Cupping his angered face within my hands, I managed to look him straight in the in eye. "Gabriel, it's okay. I took care of it," I quickly reassured him. "Trust me, after what I did to him, Brody will think twice before he tries to hurt anyone else again!"

"Brody, is it? I'll _kill_ that little shit! Wait a second…_after what you did?_ What did you do, Claire?"

With a nonchalant shrug I informed him of the following, "Well, after I woke up in the middle of my own autopsy, I decided to drive Brody's pretty little red pick-up truck straight into a brick wall…_while_ he was still strapped into the passenger's seat. He survived, _barely_. Of course Dad didn't want to take any chances so he had the Haitian pay him a visit at the hospital and had his memory wiped clean."

At first, Sylar looked downright appalled, perhaps even a bit disgusted. That's if the wide-eyed deer-in-headlights expression was any indication of his true feelings. And when he pulled away from my grasp my heart plummeted like the Dow Jones straight into the pit of my stomach.

_Oh shit! Now I've gone and done it._

"Gabriel, say something…_anything_, please," I fearfully cajoled him as my eyes frantically searched his stunned face for a flicker of hope.

A few frenetic heartbeats later, much to my relief, he smiled. "Gee Claire. I didn't know you liked it _rough_!"

Now, _that_ little comment had certainly earned him a punch in the arm, which Gabriel summarily received.

"Hey, _OUCH_, you didn't have to hit me!" he playfully scowled, all while rubbing a bruise that had long since faded away.

Undeterred by his outwardly annoyed pout, I pointed an accusing finger in his face. "Oh yes I did," I affirmed. Then I added, "You just watch your step, Mr. Gray or you'll find yourself being used as a crash test dummy next!"

He must have found what I said to be absolutely hysterical because he started laughing uncontrollably. And what beautiful sound it was too, a veritable symphony to my ears. Far from the maniacal cackle I would have associated with his infamous persona, I found his laugh to be lively and surprisingly infectious.

Very soon I joined his humorous chorus with a fit of girlish giggles. Then out of the blue Gabriel swooped down to kiss me soundly on the lips.

"You're something else, Cheerleader," he affectionately proclaimed. "You're _special_."

"That may be. You just make sure to keep those fingers out of my head or _else_," I warned sternly.

Much to my chagrin, Gabriel raised his hand to wiggle said digits in front of my face. Then with a smug tone he drawled, "Oh, these babies? Don't you worry, princess, I have much _better_ uses for my fingers. Trust me." He punctuated that last statement with wolfish grin.

Despite the raunchiness of his humor, Gabriel's expression unexpectedly became grave once more. Subsequently, he drew in a deep breath, which was quickly expelled. Looking deeply into my eyes, he posed the next question, "Claire, I want to ask you something. And please don't be embarrassed…or_ mad_. Are you a virgin?"

Right away, I felt my cheeks grow hot with the blush of humiliation.

_Oh God, could this night get any worse?_

Mortified, I felt the familiar prickle of unshed tears forming inside my eyes. Hastily, I twisted my head away to escape from Gabriel's penetrating glare. I couldn't look at him. I was just so afraid to confront the ridicule that would certainly be written all over his face.

I prayed for a miracle to get me out of this current situation. Or at the very least for a natural disaster to strike that would hopefully split the ground wide open to swallow me whole. Sadly, I had no such luck.

Gabriel was still perched above me intently boring a hole into my profile with his laser beam eyes.

"Claire, look at me."

I refused to answer or comply with his request. I just kept staring at the concrete wall on the opposite side of the cell fighting like hell not to cry.

"Baby doll, _please_ look at me," Gabriel tried again.

He then tenderly placed a finger beneath my chin to carefully turn my face toward his.

My heart was beating fast as I was forced to focus a wary eye on him.

Suddenly terror gripped me like never before. I was totally convinced that a jeering, mocking visage would be staring back down at me. Instead, I was greatly comforted by the compassion and genuine concern contained within the deep dark depths of his expressive eyes.

His lips curved into a sexy little smile as his next words put me further at ease, "Claire, sweetheart. It's perfectly alright. Don't be afraid. Being a virgin is _not_ the end of the world."

I gasped when he suddenly closed the gap between our bodies and felt the evidence of his rampant arousal against a clothed thigh. "I swear to God, baby, I won't ever hurt you… _again._ I'll make this good for you, you'll see," Gabriel adamantly vowed.

Exasperated still by the whole humiliating mess, I blew an unruly blond curl away from of my face. "But that's part of the problem, Gabriel. You've traveled, seen and_ done_ things that I have yet to do!"

With a knowing smirk he rebuffed the extolling of his so-called exploits. "Ah, I see. You think because I went on a cross-country power binge that I somehow had time for the _ladies_."

"Well, didn't you?" I asked with wide-eyed incredulity.

"Sweetheart, sex was the _last_ thing on my mind during that time…that is until I saw _you_."

"What do you mean?" I breathlessly asked him.

"When I first saw you that night at Homecoming I thought you were most beautiful creature I had ever laid my eyes on. You still are."

"Yeah, right. As I remember it, you had just thrown me into a wall after you attacked Jackie. And I was bleeding profusely. How was that beautiful?"

"Because when I saw you heal I _knew_ deep down that you were just like me. And I made up my mind right then that I had to have you or die trying."

"Bullshit, you wanted my power more!" I disputed. Thanks to his extensive file, I knew full well about his quest for invincibility.

"True…I'll admit that getting your ability was definitely a bonus. But my obsession was always more about the _girl_. Hell, ask your parents if you don't believe me!

"For real?" I questioned him, utterly amazed by his candor.

He smiled even broader this time when he countered, "For _real_. Jesus, Claire, I practically creeped out your poor mother the afternoon I came for you when your family was still living in Odessa. I kept going on and one about you and your "talents". And after a while, Sandra had caught on. I think she was getting ready to call that Chris Hansen guy from 'To Catch a Predator' on my ass!"

Just the thought of Sylar walking into an ambush designed to ensnare on-line pedophiles threw me into another fit of uncontainable titters.

"Laugh it up fuzz ball," Gabriel aptly quoted Han Solo as a hint of mirth danced in his eyes.

"So I'm a Wookie now?"

Chuckling devilishly he slowly started kissing my neck again. "No," he answered between pecks. "You're more like an Ewok."

"A very…" _kiss_.

"Sexy…" _double kiss_.

"Little Ewok," _kiss, kiss, kiss_.

"God, you're such a _geek_," I groaned, bending my throat to give him better access. As his kisses reawakened my passion, I desperately gripped the bed sheets in my tight little fists.

"Oh, you have _no_ idea. Before I became Sylar I was a full-on _nerd_," he divulged as fiery kisses blazed a trail to my waiting breasts.

Before I could even contemplate the thought of Gabriel wearing Coke-bottle lens glasses and a pocket protector, he had taken my already hardened left nipple into his hot wet mouth.

And as he began to skillfully suckle on the stiffened peak , Gabriel had begun to knead my other breast. He then alternated between the two perky bosoms, ensuring that neither one felt neglected. After a few leisurely minutes of mind-blowing oral stimulation, he detached his mouth so he could lightly blow on the saliva coated nub. When I felt his warm breath on my skin, my back arched immediately as my mouth went dry and my toes curled.

_Oh, Jesus, h__ow does he know that my left nipple is more sensitive than my right?_

As he continued his mouth-play, one hand remained my chest while the other had stealthily moved to the front of my jeans. Gabriel made quick work to pop the metal button open with his fingers, while his telekinesis made sure to unzip the fly so he could slip his warm hand right in.

Gabriel soon discovered that I was already drenched for him. My sensible little panties had been soaked through and through with my feminine secretions. Judging from his deep groan, he seemed very pleased by this development.

"Christ, Claire. You're so _wet,_" he moaned against my breast.

_Is__ that a good or bad thing, _I thought anxiously.

When he re-doubled his efforts to suck my nipples harder into his mouth as one long finger grazed my virgin slit, I got my answer.

_It__'s good, definitely good_.

Carefully, he slid that glorious digit along the length of my vagina, coating it in the copious juices he had found there, and then rubbed it over and around my clit. He repeated the motion several times reveling in the little noises I was making as a direct result.

Fisting the sheets even tighter, my core throbbed and ached as I panted, "Gabriel, I want, _I want_…"

Lifting his hand and mouth away from the self-appointed task of stimulating my tits, he moved upward to place a sweet little kiss behind my right ear. And wouldn't you know it? It turned out to be another erogenous zone. His other hand stayed put however, snug and warm inside my jeans while his fingers continued to rub and pinch my incredibly engorged clit.

"Oh, _Gaaaaawd_!" I cried out as my eyes rolled into the back of head. Fuck, _everything_ he had done up to that point felt so damned good. And I couldn't get enough.

I almost imploded the second he took the lobe of my ear between his teeth and gave it a good tug. Then Gabriel whispered hotly, "Wait, I want to _taste _you first."

I thought I'd come undone right there. My body immediately trembled with anticipation and want.

A light sheen of sweat had broken out across my skin from the heat radiating out from his body and into mine. Sadly though, he had extricated his hand from my pants causing me to whine like a petulant child over its loss. I was then forced to gawk at him with lustful fascination as he brought it to his mouth. As he began to lick his fingers clean with his long wet tongue my arousal grew ten-fold.

Gabriel was quite the showman, I must say. He possessed the intrinsic ability to simultaneously shock and titillate his audience.

Suddenly, I felt short of breath, wheezing like a rusty squeeze box. And for a fleeting moment I thought I'd pass out from the lack of oxygen. Meanwhile, shockwaves of raging desire battered my body again and again. Compelled and desperate to seek further stimuli, I was obliged to grope at my own breast with a tiny yet eager hand. I decided to experiment a little by pinching the nipple before rolling it between two fingers. I hissed and groaned at the sensation as I watched Gabriel continue to suck my arousal right off his digits.

"Mmmmm, you taste so _sweet_, baby doll, just like candy," he shamelessly told me. "But I want more and I know just where to get it."

Unsure of his intentions, I dared to turn my gaze toward his. What I found there, in the dark brown nadirs, made my heart pound wildly. The smoldering look in his eyes was _unmistakable_- it was pure unadulterated lust.

Like a man on mission, he quickly moved down the length of the bed. Deftly, he removed my shoes and socks. Then without hesitation, he roughly gripped my hips. Aided by his telekinesis he stripped off my jeans. And the white cotton panties soon followed. I was now completely exposed to him, bare and trembling.

Perhaps sensing my apprehension of being the only one in the buff, Gabriel gingerly sat up to reach down and yank his white pajama-like shirt (no doubt Company issue) up over his head. My eyes grew wide the minute I spied the nest of dark hair dusted across a chiseled pair of pectorals. As I continued to stare at Gabriel in disbelief, I couldn't help noticing his fantastic physique. Lean and muscular, I found his form thus far to be very pleasing to the eye.

And just as I started to enjoy the view, in a demonstration of one-upmanship, Gabriel abruptly stood up next to the bed and divested himself of his pants as well.

_Holy hell, c__an the man be any hotter?_

Fuck a duck, he was naked and he was _HUGE_! Like Ron Jeremy huge. (Don't ask me how I know who Ron Jeremy is. Let's just say I accidentally came across my Mom's secret stash of porn one day and leave it at that).

Exactly how many minutes had flown by while I just sat there rapidly blinking my eyes like a 'tard? To this day I don't know. All I remember was how my brain frantically searched for something clever to say. But the only noise I could articulate sounded like the clucking of a dying chicken.

Anyway, I was enthralled to say the least. Gabriel Gray had definitely been blessed in the penis department. Not that I'd seen that many penises at age 16. But it was a safe bet that his was the most _impressive _to date.

_Jesus, __this guy has powers AND a big dick? And yet he suffers with an inferiority complex. Go figure._

"See something you like, Claire?" his sultry voice quickly pulled me out of my contemplations.

Seeing him standing there all confident and proud did _nothing_ to restore my vocal faculties. The most I could manage was a nod in the affirmative as I blushed furiously from head to toe.

"Don't worry, baby," he soothed as he slowly reached out to touch my leg. "I'm going to get you nice and ready for me, okay?"

"Okay," I finally managed to hoarsely croak out .

Moving closer to the edge of the bed he placed a firm grip on both of my slim ankles. Gabriel then yanked me toward him until the lower half of my body was completely off the edge and dangling over a precipice. It was all could do to keep my balance as I propped my torso up at the elbows. Still holding onto the bottom of my legs, he spread them wide and then knelt on the floor between them. Next he threw a curvy leg over each of his strong shoulders then leaned in to worship the soft flesh of my inner thighs with his lips and tongue.

My core was dripping wet and begging for sweet release. But Gabriel was just getting started, so I had to be patient. His intimate kisses meanwhile, branded my flesh, marking me as his. Unashamed, I sighed and breathed like a wanton whore. I was overwhelmed by the sight of his dark-haired head between my quivering thighs. As he licked his way closer to my aching center I threw my head back while my mouth fell open to praise his name with reverent benediction.

"Oh, my God, Gabriel, that feels so good!"

The son-of-bitch started chuckling obviously very pleased by my reactions to his ministrations thus far. I instantly felt incensed by his mocking. So I showed him my displeasure with an angry glower.

Feeling my heated gaze, Gabriel momentarily lifted his face away from the apex of my thighs. He immediately pinned me down with his stare- his eyes were black and intense like two glittering onyxes.

"Don't be angry, baby doll," he cooed as his hand found its way to the sensitive folds of my vagina. "I'm just happy that you've been able to enjoy this so far. That's all."

When his fingers glided over my labia my ire became a distant memory.

"G-Gabriel, oh Gabriel, _please_." I begged shamelessly.

"Please what, Claire?"

"Please don't stop touching me!" I breathed desperately.

With a confident little smirk emblazoned across his lips he replied, "Your wish is my command."

Gabriel ceased his gentle strokes only to thrust two fingers deep inside me. I was jolted by the unexpected maneuver and yelped in protest. However, when he started steadily moving those very same fingers in and out of my opening I quickly forgot what all the fuss was about. His thumb meanwhile had found my throbbing clit. And to my extreme pleasure the man wasted no time in rubbing and mashing the sensitive little nub in concert with his working fingers.

My heart was hammering inside my chest and my breathing became even more erratic. Gabriel continued to masterfully manipulate my cunt, playing me like a virtuoso, pushing me further and further to the brink. Meanwhile his eyes drank in every expression I made as a string of nonsensical expletives escaped from my lips.

"Oh, fuck…shit. Don't stop, you beautiful bastard! Don't you _dare_ stop!"

I'd been reduced to begging but I didn't care. I never wanted this feeling to end, ever.

My shoulders hurt and the muscles in my neck were tense yet I continued to balance myself on the bed. My orgasm was almost upon me, I could feel it, taste it even. I was so close, so _fucking_ close.

"Baby, look at me," he commanded with a grunt as his fingers curled upward inside my snug little snatch.

I keened when he started hitting a spot inside of me I never _dreamed_ existed. I barely had it in me to comply with his demand.

With glazed over eyes I watched his expression turn deadly serious when he added, "Claire, I know you're about to come. And I'll let you in just a second. But allow me to be me to be perfectly clear...I want to be the first and ONLY man that does this to you."

All I could do was whimper as he began to scissor his fingers, stretching my walls in the process to no doubt prepare me for what was to come.

When I failed to respond his hand abruptly stopped moving.

_No, not now! Not when I'm almost there!_

Anxiously, I looked into his eyes, silently pleading for him to finish. But when I only saw a pair demonic looking orbs glaring back at me, that's when I knew that Gabriel was no longer in control. Sylar, dark and dangerous, had slipped back in somehow. And now that he had my power, there was no doubt that he was here to collect the rest of me.

He was practically seething when he growled between clenched teeth, "Swear I'll be the only one. _Swear it, Claire!"_

My heart lurched and my pussy clamped down around his fingers as they reacted to the powerful timbre of his voice.

This was _the_ defining moment. And I was totally aware of the consequences. I knew that if I gave in now I would be ruined forever. Yet the thought eternal damnation did nothing to deter me from the momentous decision that had to be made. I desired more than anything to be _possessed_ by him, to be his _always,_ no matter what the cost. Casting aside all hesitation I wholly surrendered my heart, body and soul to the Devil himself.

"Y-yes, I swear! I'm yours, only yours. I'll never give myself to anyone else. I swear to fucking God!" I cried out.

"That's all I needed to hear," he said smugly, secure in the knowledge that I belonged to him now -lock, stock and barrel.

His head dove back down between my legs like a submarine slipping beneath the waves as his fingers went right back to work. His other hand possessively caressed the curvaceous juncture at my hip and thigh. The second I felt his soft lips latched onto the little bundle of nerves, my hips rocked forward involuntarily.

"_Oh, my sweet Jesus_!" I exclaimed while I fought the urge to come on his face right then. The feeling his mouth intensely sucking and licking at my clit while he fucked me deeper and deeper with his fingers was indescribable.

At some point I dared to sneak a peak down below. And when I did, I gasped at the sight of his gleaming dark eyes intently watching me. Faster and faster he went, his hand and mouth worked together to maintain the frenzied tempo as my passionate cries grew louder. Thankfully, the cells in Level 5 were soundproof so I didn't need to worry about attracting the attention of the other inmates or security.

But I so far gone by that point that my Dad could have charged in right at that moment with guns blazing and it still wouldn't have made fucking difference. All that mattered right now was Sylar's scorching tongue on my clit as he relentlessly shoved his rigid fingers deep inside my pussy.

The tears that had threatened to spill over earlier were now running down my face. "Oh, my fucking Christ!"I sobbed. "Gabriel, please don't stop! Please, baby keeping doing that to me. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_!"

And that's when it happened.

The universe suddenly exploded in front of my eyes with a blast of white hot brilliance. And with the rushing force of a tidal wave, I came hard and deep, with legs shaking and hips bucking uncontrollably. My torso collapsed on the mattress, which caused my breasts to jiggle while my head thrashed back and forth on the rumbled bedding.

Gabriel prolonged my pleasure as he greedily lapped up the juices that had been expelled during my climax. Meanwhile, his fingers took the brunt of the aftershocks of my clenching walls. I was assaulted by wave after wave of ecstasy as I screamed his name for all to hear.

"_GABRIEL!_"

In my post-orgasmic haze I barely registered the moment when the man who had just orally pleasured me rose up from his knees to align his pelvis to mine. Next he moved his hips forward to push my legs and ass back onto the mattress.

My heart was still racing as I tried to get my breathing under control. Gabriel meanwhile had placed his hand back on my cheek as his eyes affectionately peered down at me. "I had no idea you'd be this beautiful when you come. I love it when you scream my name. I wanna hear it again. Are you ready for the _main event_?"

"What, _that_ wasn't it? Because what you just did was damned spectacular!" I breathed.

He laughed at my lame attempt at humor then said, "No baby, not by a long shot. Now, I know you don't feel pain anymore."

"Yeah, and who's fault is that, I wonder?" Obviously I was still miffed by the reminder of the day he stole my power.

"Okay, you got me. But I'm still going to take it slow, okay? If at any time you feel uncomfortable, you just say the word and I'll stop. Are you ready?"

I was supremely touched by his thoughtful concern for my well-being. This was so unlike the Sylar I thought I knew. This was the man I was seeing now and not the monster. And it made me realize that perhaps I didn't know him at all. No one did.

Raising my head off the bed I gave him a quick kiss on the lips in a show of gratitude.

"You're wonderful, you know that?" I whispered to him.

Upon hearing my endearing words his smile grew so wide, I was afraid his face would crack. He looked so happy in that moment that my frozen heart melted at the sight.

"I'm ready, Gabriel," I demurely announced .

Then I told him resolutely, "Take me now or lose me forever."

Relief flooded his features as he cried, "Oh, thank God. I don't think I could've waited much longer!"

He then kissed my mouth long and hard while he took his erection in hand to rub it up and down my slit for proper lubrication. Next he moved his hands down to firmly cup my ass to tilt my pelvis. Afterward, Gabriel positioned his cock at my entrance while I gripped his broad shoulders to hold on for dear life.

Looking deeply into my eyes he whispered, "_I love you_." And then he rocked his hips forward and entered me rupturing my hymen in one powerful thrust. Thank goodness there was no pain, only a sense that something large and foreign had penetrated my body.

As I tried to adjust to this newest sensation, I was stunned by Gabriel's admission. Unfortunately I wasn't given much time to react to it, since I was too busy being overwhelmed by the incredible feeling of _fullness_. If it had been any other virgin, she would have been screaming bloody murder at having such an _enormous_ cock deflower her. However, this was one of those rare moments when I was actually grateful for my ability. A lesser female would have certainly passed out by now.

Gabriel meanwhile had remained perfect still. He was waiting for me to give him the go-ahead to proceed further.

"Are you alright, baby?" he asked worriedly.

Smiling up at Gabriel, I quickly reassured him. "Just peachy,"

"Can I move now?" he pitifully whined as his face displayed the most _adorable_ little pout. This made it near impossible for me to say "no" to that face.

Conceding to his request, I told him, "Yes, you can move."

With a cocksure smile he teased, "Brace yourself, Missy."

And before I knew what was happening he began to rock his hips back in forth with steady precision. Purposefully Gabriel had kept his thrusts measured and careful, ensuring that the experience was both prolonged and pleasurable for us both.

"Oh, Claire, you feel so good!" he moaned as he peppered my face with sweet little kisses.

I loved how he felt inside of me and how doting he was being by putting my needs first. However, I had already gone past the first threshold of pleasure and was ready for something much more stimulating.

So in keeping with my new _take charge_ philosophy, I suddenly grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his face down to mine.

"Fuck me _harder_," I demanded with a fierce growl.

Gabriel faltered upon hearing my bold command. "A-are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

I had just about enough of his gentlemanly ways. Summoning up the true grit of my inner Texan I barked, "Gabriel John Gray, if you don't start fucking me like your life depended on it, I swear to God Almighty that I'll find _something_ to shove in your sweet spot and then leave here you to rot! Are we clear on that?"

Obviously delighted by my no-holds-barred attitude, Gabriel smiled his evilest grin to date.

"_Crystal_," he rasped darkly.

And no sooner had he said that, Gabriel began to pound away as if he were being chased by Lucifer himself. Each mighty thrust of his hips felt like a clap of thunder that rocked my body back to the stone-age.

Swiftly I wrapped my legs around his slim waist. And not to be outdone, I started to repeatedly sweep my pelvis in an upward counter motion, matching him thrust for thrust. The friction created between us was incredible and I soon found myself on the advent of another mind-blowing orgasm.

Dragging my fingernails down his back, I screamed, "_Harder, goddamn you, harder!"_

With a mighty grunt, Gabriel did exactly as commanded by drilling his magnificent cock into me even faster than before. Beads of sweat broke out across his brow as he labored with spectacular precision. He pounded me harder and faster working his hips back and forth like a great piston. Meanwhile I felt invisible hands touching me everywhere. Unseen fingers caressed, groped and stroked all of my sensitive areas, enhancing my pleasure immensely.

My heart leapt every time our bodies collided. The sheer force of our rough fucking made the mattress springs creak loudly while the metal headboard kept slamming against solid concrete. I thought for sure the bed would break.

When one of his hands slipped up to find my clit, I cried out with joy.

"Yes, Gabriel! _Oh, God yes!_" I hissed as I basked in the sensual pleasures of our joining.

I never thought in a million years that sex would feel like this. But then again this was sex with a super-powered demi-god, not some drunken high-school boy that would probably blow his load in two minutes flat.

Gabriel on the other hand was the antithesis of the so-called red-blooded American male. I'm sure that even during his days as a geek, he may not have had what it took to make the touchdowns. But boy did he make up for that fact with sheer sexual stamina. The man was a raging bull in the sack, no lie.

Feeling completely enraptured by the moment, I tried closing my eyes. However, they were snapped open again when he huskily said, "No, baby, keep those gorgeous green eyes on me."

His fingers then started to expertly rub at my overly sensitive core for all it was worth. My legs tightened around his waist as my back arched to an almost impossible angle. My entire body grew taut as an archer's bow- my lust was reaching its zenith. In a fit of unbridled passion my sharp nails impaled themselves deeper into the flesh of his back drawing out tiny rivulets of Gabriel's blood. I could actually feel the cuts trying to heal themselves around the embedded French-manicured points.

"Fuck, Claire! Baby, you're so damned tight," he suddenly bellowed. Excitedly he added, "You feel so _good_. God, I'll _never_ ever get tired of fucking you!"

"Ah, I'm almost there, Gabriel! _Please, please, please_," I wailed and moaned. By this time we were both dripping in sweat. The temperature in the cell had definitely increased as evidenced by the fogged up Plexiglas window beading with condensation. Meanwhile the pungent odor of perspiration mixed with bodily fluids filled the air.

Gabriel's fingers picked up the pace, violently stimulating my clit until it was raw and throbbing.

Suddenly he locked his eyes onto mine. Then in a harsh whisper he gave me a single command, "Come for me, Claire! It's okay. I have you, _just come for me_."

Reassured by his devotion I wholly and unequivocally put my trust in him. Somehow, I knew that he actually did have me and always would, come what may.

Then everything I was feeling converged in that precise moment. All the fear, uncertainty, hate, and anger of the last year were simultaneously expelled as my body shattered from the inside out.

Throwing my head back I opened my mouth wide, unleashing the most primal of screams. Surrendering to a power greater than myself, I was compelled to let it all go. Pure rapturous ecstasy engulfed me and then swallowed me whole. I was helpless to stop the savage onslaught so I submitted to its force. This second climax was definitely more powerful than the first. I was shaken to my very core by multiple shuddering spasms as I felt my walls viciously clamp down on Gabriel's slick member.

Gabriel's own release had naturally been triggered by mine. And I watched with awe and wonder as he started to fall apart in my arms. I then leaned forward to kiss his hairy chest as I held him more tightly. He practically purred, appreciative of the attention I was giving him.

Up until that moment Gabriel's face had been distorted into the manifestation of strained exertion. When his expression changed to one of great relief and elation, I felt myself being pushed back onto the mattress and held there by an unseen force. Abruptly he let go of my ass, so he could use his hands to unlock my legs. He then placed them high on his shoulders while he continued to fuck me with all he had. His blazing eyes burned into mine when he finally came inside of me with a mighty shout.

"_CLAIRE! Oh God!_"

Caught in the throes of his climax, he continued to pump his hips forward in a wild frantic motion, thus ensuring that his warm and sticky ejaculate kept spurting straight into my womb until he was completely spent.

lllll

Several minutes later we were spooning on the bed as we basked in the afterglow. After mulling it over in my mind, I finally got the nerve to ask him that all important question. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Claire." Gabriel feigned ignorance. But I knew better.

Rolling over so I could face him I gave him the stink eye. "Don't act stupid, Mr. Gray. It doesn't become you. You know _exactly_ what I mean. Now spill."

Exasperated by my tenacity he sighed before giving in. Pulling me closer to him he placed a kiss on the very tip of my pert little nose. "Fine, you win. _I love you, Claire_.

"Wow," I say in amazement.

Taking my hand in his, he looked at me with desperate hope. "I know you don't think that a man like me is capable of it. But I've loved you since the moment I touched your hand to save you from Canfield's vortex. In that instant I saw everything, every happy memory, your fears, your dreams and hopes. I saw _you_ Claire, the real you. And for the first time in my life I found myself helplessly falling head over heels in love."

I was awestruck by his heartfelt honesty. "Really?" I asked like a dope.

"Really and truly, baby doll. Of course, I was still under the impression that you were my _niece_, so I there was no way I could act on my feelings. And besides, you hated my fucking guts.

But now it seems all that's changed, right?"

"Well, duh, Gabriel. I don't think I would have slept with you if I still wished you dead."

"Now it's your turn to tell me something. How do you feel about me?"

I pondered his question for a minute before I sensibly answered him, "Well, I obviously don't hate you anymore, if that's what you want to hear. And I also think that you're the hottest guy I've ever been with."

"I'm the _only_ guy you've ever been with. And it better stay that way," he playfully warned.

"Whatever. Anyway, I think you're sweet, sexy and all kinds of wonderful. But to be perfectly honest, I don't know if I love you just yet."

He was crestfallen by my admission, I could tell by the crushed look on his face. And I suddenly felt the urge to make it all better.

So I kissed him on the lips and said with a smile, "That doesn't mean though that I won't ever love you. Just give me time, please? I'm sixteen years-old, Gabriel. And all of this is still very new to me. I do care about you, though. And I'll keep my promise. I won't be with anyone else but you. I mean that."

"Okay, Claire. If time is what you need, then you shall have it. But I refuse to stay in this hell hole another minute playing Company stooge for your daddy or Angela."

Suddenly, I grip his hand tighter, as I tried to appeal to his better nature. "Gabriel, I came here tonight to recruit an ally, someone just like me that's tired of having the Company mess around in people's lives. You're _exactly_ where you need to be. Don't leave."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"If you stay, you and I can work together to destroy the Company from the inside. Think about it. With you being partnered up with my Dad, you could find out what they're planning. And I have access to all of his secret files, _the ones you didn't steal_. There's also his laptop and all the gadgets that would make James Bond cream in his pants. Once we've got enough ammunition to use against them we'll lower the boom Primatech. They won't know what hit them."

With wide-eyed astonishment he dared to ask, "Who _are_ you?"

I smiled coyly as I replied, "I'm just a cheerleader…_with a grudge_."

_TBC…_

A/N: Okay, finally the long awaited love scene! My blood, sweat and tears went into this puppy. And it's my longest chapter to date. I risked getting fired from my job by writing some of this at work. I neglected family and friends. And I worked my fingers to the bone to get this done, for you, my lovely loyal readers. See how much I love you?

Now, show me some love and review.


	13. Chapter 13

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

Acknowledgments: A special thank you goes out to all of my wonderful and loyal readers. And you know who are, my lovelies.

I was overwhelmed and deeply touched by the high praise I received for the last chapter. Your words of encouragement and the continued support are what keep this story alive. So thank you so very much from the bottom of my heart!

As for those of you that have just recently added this fic to your alerts and/or favorites allow me to extend my appreciation to you as well.

Well, enough with the hearts and flowers…on with the show!

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Gabriel Gray – Pinehearst Laboratories 25 hours after the Costa Verde Explosion_

"….You do remember that phone call you got from her, don't you Claire?" Astonishingly, I'm not at all fazed by the tail end of Peter's query. After all Mama Petrelli was infamous for making cryptic phone calls to family, friends and enemies alike.

What does surprise me, however is the demure quality of Claire response, "I-I guess I do."

"When was that Claire?" Peter presses again.

"I don't remember," she grumbles miserably. _Ah, Pete's apparently touched on a nerve._

He's visibly incensed by her refusal to give him a straight answer. For once I can _totally_ empathize with the guy. I know better than most that Claire can be one stubborn little bitch when she decides to dig her heels in.

However, Peter in spite of his current alliances, demonstrates that he's still a Petrelli through and through. The ability to be an obstinate and determined son-of-bitch is a birthright that's been passed down to him and his late brother Nathan from previous generations of their hardy immigrant forefathers. Claire possesses this trait too. But she hasn't quite learned to hone into a weapon like the elder members of her biological clan have, at least not yet.

And now that very same inborn strong-mindedness won't allow Pete to give Claire even an inch of wiggle room. She'll have no choice but to give him the answers he seeks- one way or another.

The severe frown marking his face somehow deepens the ghastly scar upon it. I've seen this expression countless times before -the one that tells the world that Peter Matthew Petrelli isn't fucking around and means business. I still find it rather hilarious that no matter how intimating he may appear to his other adversaries, to me he looks constipated.

_Gee, Pete. Ever think about adding more roughage to your diet?_

I can't help the sense of amusement I feel as I watch my "brother" quickly advance on his immobilized niece. Crouching down on his haunches right next to her, he quickly extends his hand to pull Claire up from the floor by means of invisible strings until she's in an upright sitting position. Next, he leans his face in real close to Claire's and whispers harshly, "_You lie!"_

Claire, who no doubt is hopping mad by now, sneers at her uncle as she hisses viciously, "Fuck you, Peter! The only one that's a liar here is _you_! And I'm sick and tired of playing your games. Let me go, NOW!" "

Peter, unimpressed by her show of bravado, only shakes his head in pity. Mockingly, he chastises her colorful use of language, "Nice, Claire. You kiss your mother your with that mouth?"

_Uh oh, he just had to go there. Not good Peter. _

Anyone who's anyone knows that you don't play the Mother Card with Claire Bennet.

"How _dare_ you mention her? In case you've forgotten, asshole, my mother is _dead_! She died while I was out hunting for _you_. I couldn't even say good-bye." Although she's fuming, I can still detect the underlying grief in her tone.

Leaning in closer to the seething pint-sized assassin, Pete's now placed himself within a hairsbreadth of the _danger zone_. Claire may not have use of her limbs right now. But I know first hand that those little pearly white teeth could still gnaw at his nose or lips with the ferociousness of a school piranha.

Oblivious of the peril, Pete smiles in an almost sympathetic manner as he reminds his brother's daughter of her own short-comings. "You only have yourself to blame for that one, sweetheart. If you had listened to reason and stayed home with your family, _where you belonged_, then maybe, just maybe you could have been the one at Sandra's side when she drew her last breath and instead of me and Gabriel!"

I can feel a cringe-worthy moment coming on as I brace myself to watch the ensuing carnage.

_Okay, here it comes…__three, two and one. _

And just I'd predicted Claire's mouth flies open as wide as it could go as she swiftly moves her head forward. Growling ferociously she immediately sinks her perfect teeth into the fleshy part of Pete's Roman nose. I grimace with disgust was I watch her shake her head to and fro in an effort to cause the maximum amount of damage. Blood starts gushing forth coating both the aggressor and victim in a film of warm dark crimson.

Meanwhile, Pete's unmanly shrieks of pain reverberate throughout the nearly empty chamber as he tries to pull his pit-bull like niece off his face.

The savage and impulsive attack, to my unexpected relief, has unintentionally caused Peter to lose his high-level of concentration. He so stunned in fact, that he momentarily forgets to engage any of his powers to stop her from mauling him.

Seconds later, as I'm released from Petrelli's telekinetic grasp, I watch as Claire takes full advantage of her own new-found freedom. After spitting out a chunk of Peter's flesh she quickly pounces on him then starts pummeling his face and chest with her fists.

But Peter refuses to hit back or use his abilities on her. He's probably still tethered to some outdated notion of chivalry that prevents him from striking a woman, even one as deserving as Claire Bennet surely is.

_You're such a p__ussy, Petrelli. Claire's no ordinary girl. She's a fucking she-devil that needs to get her ass kicked! _

Nevertheless, the ongoing scuffle prompts me to act quickly. I know that I need to break up this fight even if it does flies in the face of every instinct that tells me to just let them kill each other.

Besides, there are bigger fish to fry here. Precious minutes that could be spent searching, finding and then ultimately rescuing Noah are being wasted. And I'll be _damned_ before I allow some familial spat to get in the way of that goal. Moreover, and as much as I _hate_ to admit this, it's been made perfectly clear that in my current _powerless _state, I need these two deluded idiots to find my son.

So it falls to _me_, of all people, to play mediator and get this expedition underway.

With a labored grunt I jump to my feet as fast as I can, then purposefully I tread over to where my ex-wife and her uncle continue grappling with each other on the floor. Aside from the cussing, shrieking and blood, they resemble two overly hyper kindergartners fighting over the last red crayon in the box.

Sneering with disgust my hands swiftly lash out to separate the feuding relatives. As one hand grabs onto Claire's loose ebony tresses the other takes hold of the scruff of Peter's shirt. Next, I roughly yank at my ex's hair pulling her back and away from the nasty brawl. After that I unceremoniously toss her with as much force as I can to the other side of the room. Her flailing body then slams into a couple of chairs, knocking them over like two over-sized bowling pins.

As for Peter, I haul him up by the back of his neck like an unruly mongrel and turn him to face me. The torn skin on his bloodied nose has already started knitting itself back together. Too bad I can't say the same thing for that scar that nearly splits his face in two.

He's pissed, that much I can tell. And I can hardly blame the guy after being twice humiliated. First, he endures being Claire's chew toy and favorite punching bag only to end up being manhandled by yours truly. Peter hastily shoves my hand off his neck with an angry scowl.

"Get off me, man," he growls at me. He then tries to straighten himself up perhaps in the hopes of regaining some of his lost dignity.

Nevertheless, I angrily snarl at both of them, "Let's get _one_ thing straight. This bullshit stops NOW! The only thing I care about is Noah!"

"Oh and _we_ don't?" Peter retorts as he points to himself then Claire who is still on the opposite end of the lab. "You forget bro that _she _gave birth to him. And I'm not only his uncle but I'm his _godfather_ too! I stood in that church by your side and I _swore_ to both of you that I'd lay down my life for him."

Already back on her feet, Claire sloppily wipes her blood-spattered mouth with the back of her hand. She then waves the stained appendage dismissively as she glares at her pontificating uncle. "That's rich, coming from the likes of you, Peter. You're nothing but a murdering, fanatical radical! Why should I place the life of my son in your hands?"

Peter whips his head around to look directly at the woman that just cut him down to size. "Glass houses, Claire. I wouldn't throw stones if I were you. The only difference between me and you is that you get a paycheck every week from Uncle Sam. How many people have _you_ killed in the name of a cause? Your hands are just as bloody as mine, maybe more!"

"That's _enough_, from both of you!" I bellow out, my booming tenor summarily drowns out the infuriating din of their mounting quarrel.

"We're wasting precious time. Noah is out there, _somewhere_ and he needs our help!" I remind uncle and niece.

Turning to Pete I state, "And if _you_ tell me that by saving him we'll end up saving the world, then fine, so be it. But in order to do that, all three of us are going to have to work _together_."

Casting a pleading look at Claire, my eyes silently beg her to listen to reason. Then I address her directly, "As awful as that sounds, Pete's right, it's the only way. So whatever scores we may have to settle with each other are going to have to wait until _after_ we find him. Once that happens, you two can rip each other to shreds for all I care! All I want is my son."

The hurt contained in those jade colored eyes is clearly visible. There's no doubt that she's pained by the exclusion of sharing in any parental claims when it comes to Noah. I almost feel some sympathy for her until I remember that she brought this upon herself.

Whatever anguish she might be feeling though is quickly stamped out as she takes up the warrior's mantle once more. With a confident little gait Claire saunters over to where I'm currently standing with Pete. She places a hand on each of her curvaceous hips as she tosses her dyed locks off her shoulder and then haughtily says, "Oh yeah, and how are _you_ going to fight off the hordes of government agents and anyone else that might be after us _without_ your precious powers, _stud_?"

Flashing a saccharine grin her way I reply, "That's why I've got you and the Italian Eagle Scout for, _sweet cheeks_. You'll both serve as the muscle and human shields. And I'll be the brains of this operation since my intuitive aptitude is still intact. Besides, judging from today's fiasco, you're not the best tactician anyway. So leave the planning to me."

Claire's emerald orbs stare daggers at me as her hands close tightly into fists. No one has to draw me a picture since I have a strong inkling that right now she'd like nothing more than to wipe the triumphant smile right off my face.

However, she's knows deep down that I'm right, regardless of any nausea she might be feeling over the very idea. Jutting out her little chin in a final display of defiance she nonetheless acquiesces.

"Fine," she spits the word out like a bad taste in her mouth. "We'll work together, for Noah's sake." I'm somewhat relieved until she adds, "_But_… after this little rescue mission is over, all bets are off."

"Which means _what_ exactly?" I ask her warily.

Narrowing those bewitching verdant eyes at me, she says with a wry little smile, "It means that you'd better pray that you get your powers back _before _we find Noah or you may not survive the bullet I'm going to put between those fucking eyebrows of yours."

Then as if she hadn't just threatened my life, she turns to Peter and demands, "Okay, tell us _everything_ you know about Noah, Angela and the prophecy. And don't you _dare_ leave anything out."

lllll

For the next twenty minutes or so, Peter Petrelli details all of the intelligence he has gathered over the years. We're now all seated facing each other, keeping our hands _and_ powers to ourselves, like civilized folk. Well, as civilized as we can be considering we can't stand one another.

Nevertheless, as Peter lays it all down, I catch Claire looking at me every so often. Perhaps she wants to gauge my reaction especially when Peter gets down to the part where Noah is involved.

"…First there was Adam Monroe" Peter reveals.

"_Monroe_…why does that name sound familiar?" I ask no one in particular.

Peter enlightens me, "He was the Company's founder and the first true immortal on record."

"Ah, now I remember." I smile knowingly. "He was my Plan B."

"_Plan B_?" Peter asks with morbid curiosity.

"Yeah, in case I couldn't get to the elusive Cheerleader." I cheekily inform him while thumbing over at the former Mrs. Gray.

Claire, obviously riled at being referred to as some bubble-headed pom-pom queen, heckles me as she crosses her arms across her ample bosoms. "Good to know you had options, _Sylar_."

In retaliation I flash a mega-watt smile at my ex-wife, just to get under her skin.

"_Always_," I boastfully proclaim, rubbing her nose in my ingenuity.

Peter, who by this time is probably beyond exasperated by the biting remarks between Claire and I, tries to push forward to get all the facts out.

Clearing his throat he sternly begins again in an almost chiding tone, "_Anyway_…it was under Adam's banner that the first generation of specials, which included my parents, assembled in the hopes of creating a new world, a better world."

Upon hearing this, Claire twists her mouth in distaste as she angrily spews out, "Yeah, they hoped to create a better world by planning for you to blow up New York! And when that didn't work, Monroe duped you again, didn't he? You guys nearly unleashed the Shanti Virus a year later!"

"_Quiet_, Claire," I snap at her. Wisely, I choose to ignore the fact that she's just given me the one-figure salute as I encourage Petrelli to continue, "Okay, Pete, thanks for the history lesson. But what does Adam Monroe have to do with Noah?"

"Glad you asked, Gabe," Peter says with a cocky grin. "Centuries ago, after Adam escaped feudal Japan he covertly traveled to the Greek Isles. While he was there, it was believed that he sought out a very powerful clairvoyant- a woman that claimed to be a direct descendant of the Oracle of Delphi.

According to the Company archives this woman was the first to foretell of the birth of a supremely gifted and extraordinary child many years into the future. She further predicted that not only would this progeny be of Adam's bloodline, the child's capabilities would be so potent, they could irrecoverably change the course of the world for better or worse.

Adam, hungry for power and retribution, became obsessed with the prophecy. And he spent nearly half a millennia focusing most of his energy to ascertain the identity of this _wunderkind_. He traveled the globe in search of others with pre-cognitive abilities in the hopes that they could help him pinpoint the exact location, hour and date of the birth."

"Why?" I ask with great curiosity.

"Because Adam believed that if he could control the child's ability, harness it somehow, he could use the power for his own warped endeavors. Ultimately, he envisioned this kid becoming his heir-apparent and joining him in his mad crusade for global domination."

"Jesus, who does this guy think he is, Darth Vader? What is he going to do? Ask the kid to join the Dark Side?"

It's a well known fact that publicly Claire Bennet hates the "Wars", as Peter and I have affectionately dubbed George Lucas' grand cinematic opus. _Privately_, however, it was another matter entirely as she and I well know.

So it's no surprise to me that when those very words flew out of Claire's mouth, Peter's jaw almost hit the floor.

I, on the other hand, can't stop myself from smiling over their hidden significance.

_Somebody's got Star Wars on the brain…which means __Claire's been thinking about our first time together._

"Awww, Claire," I purr seductively at her, loving the way her cheeks redden so prettily with rage. "I had no idea you were feeling so _sentimental._ Anytime you want to walk down Memory Lane, you just say the word."

Enraged by my blatant innuendo, she fires back with, "Then how about these two words: _Fuck_ and _You."_

_God, she__'s adorable when she's pissed_, I jovially think to myself.

Meanwhile, a bewildered Peter looks on at both of us completely appalled.

"Look, I don't really give a flying fuck about your unresolved issues! As far as I'm concerned as soon as this is over you two should just get a room and either _screw _or _kill_ each other already!" Pete's patience it seems has just run out.

"_As if_…I wouldn't touch _Sylar_ even if my life depended on it!" Claire guarantees.

Offended by her continued rejection, I retort, "Oh yeah? Well, I wouldn't fuck you even if you were wet and begging for it! Word on the street is you've become quite the little slut. I wouldn't want to catch _anything_."

"We _heal_, you asshole! You wouldn't even catch the common cold from me. And what's the matter, babe, _jealous_ that I finally found a _real _man that can satisfy me better than you ever could?"

"_I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS!"_ Peter suddenly shouts as he swiftly rises to his feet. Quick as a flash, he lashes out at Claire and me with his TK. And in the very next instant he uses this power to abruptly push our chairs out from under us so that we both land hard on our backsides.

"In case you've forgotten," he seethes between clenched teeth, his nostrils flaring. "We're running out of time here. Now get up and get your shit together! We're going on a little trip. I'll tell you the rest of the story when we get to our destination."

"Where is that exactly?" I gruffly raise the question as I try to sooth both my injured pride and bruised ass.

"Hell's Kitchen," Peter says simply as he watches me and Claire return to a somewhat upright position.

"As in _New York_? Why?" I ask again. It's been _years_ since I've been on the east coast and I'm not looking forward to stepping foot back in the Big Apple. There are just too many bad memories there.

"He wants to see Matt Parkman," Claire quickly fills me in.

Confused and irked that Claire and Peter seem to know more than me at this point, I demand some goddamn transparency. "_Parkman_? What's he got to do with this?"

Peter turns me and says, "Because his _father,_ Maury Parkman, is the one that's keeping Angela captive. We need to find out if Matt knows where his dad is so we can get to Angela. Don't you see, Gabe? My mother is the key to finding Noah. Without her, we don't stand a chance."

"Alright, let's go. But if we're paying Parkman a visit then I'll need my gun back. Something tells me that he isn't going to be too thrilled to see us," Claire interjects.

"Okay, here you go," Peter consents to her request. Pointing a lone finger toward Claire's discarded weapon he floats the gun through the air with practiced ease until it lands into her waiting hands.

Quickly she holsters the .38 within the inside pocket of her black leather jacket. Then throwing her shoulders back, Claire's body becomes straighter, more rigid which signals the return of her combatant frame of mind. Next she narrows her green eyes into twin slits as she looks at Peter and me with suspicion and mistrust.

"Before we get out of here," she begins with an authoritative tone, "I want to make a couple of things perfectly clear. I'm only doing this because of the boy. And I want to save lives. But if either of you _fuckers_ gets out of line, I won't hesitate to shoot first and ask questions later. Am I understood?"

Unimpressed by her G.I. Jane act, I turn a weary gaze towards Peter, who doesn't seem all that amused by Claire either. Without another word spoken Pete reaches out to roughly grab Claire's wrist. He then tugs her closer to him as he places his other hand on my shoulder. He then closes his eyes and blinks us the hell out of Pinehearst.

_TBC…_

A/N: Okay, kiddies another chapter for you. So it looks like our merry trio is off to see the Wizard of Hell's Kitchen a.k.a. Parkman. And don't worry, Peter has a lot more to say about Adam and some other nefarious baddies that all wanted to get to Noah too.


	14. Chapter 14

**Death Becomes Her**

Summary: Sylar confronts Claire one final time. He still has questions, and God help her, she better have the answers. Takes place sometime after the events of "I am Become Death".

Spoilers: Possible S3 spoilers but mostly AU and speculative.

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with the plot, so please be kind. I'm just having some fun. Also, I haven't written anything in a VERY long time, so I'm maybe a bit rusty.

Pairing: Sylaire

Disclaimer: All characters and source material are the property of NBC and Tim Kring. I wrote this for the sole purpose to entertain, not for any monetary gain.

Acknowledgments: Thank you again to all my loyal readers. Your continue support keeps me inspired.

**Chapter Fourteen **

_Gabriel Gray __– Hell's Kitchen, New York_

We materialized a few seconds later on the corner of 47th Street and 8th Avenue in full view of the general public. Surprisingly, this part of New York hasn't changed much in my absence. Most of the buildings are still old and in some cases downright derelict looking. And in spite of the beautification projects imposed on the rest city during the Guliani years, this section of town still has its streets strewn with trash.

The sidewalks are overrun today, populated with illicit purveyors hawking either their stolen or knock-off designer wares. And as far as I can tell the homeless are still prevalent in this neighborhood. I watch with a sense of uneasiness as these displaced people are summarily ignored by the so-called upstanding populace who can't be bothered by the plight of their fellow man. Surveying all the sights and sounds of this grimy, desolate borough quickly sickens me. Suddenly I find myself longing for the sunny green hills of my Californian home until I remember that no such place exists anymore.

Soon astonishment takes over, rising above the aversion and melancholy that I feel. I'm still stunned by the fact that in this day and age, three grown people can just pop out of thin air without even an eyebrow raised. But then I have to remember that this is the year 2012, where not only are super powers acknowledged and celebrated, they are also as readily available as cosmetic surgery.

It still angers me how super human abilities' exclusivity has been trivialized, their specialness reduced to a mere physical augmentation like rhinoplasty or a boob job. Gone are the days of wonder, where the Average Joe would marvel at the spectacle of the extraordinary or be amazed by the bizarre unexplainable feats of a select few.

What was once exceptional and unique has become commonplace…_mundane_. And it saddens me to no end. There are no heroes anymore, no villains either. Now the commuters I now see flying overhead, the snow cone vendor on the corner that produces his own ice straight from his fingertips, and even the kids playing stick ball in the middle street that leap and jump with super human agility and speed do not impress me.

These people were not _chosen_ by divine providence or signaled out by the evolutionary process of nature...quite on the contrary in fact. These _schmucks_, for lack of a better term, all found their powers at the pointed tip of a syringe, putting put their faith and money in some formula that has yet to be approved by the FDA.

The very existence of this "miracle potion" spits in the face of God.

Now, I'm not a very religious man despite my strict Catholic upbringing. But even a cynical agnostic like me somehow knows that not everyone was meant to have these powers.

I've always contended that no good would ever come of having an entire generation of artificially modified humans. They are still too many unknowns…unforeseen variables that could spell disaster.

On this fact alone Peter and I wholly agree.

Now it's Peter's voice that stirs me from my inner thoughts as he questions Claire on where to go next.

"Okay, I got us here. Where's does Parkman live?" he asks his niece.

Claire, who is currently tying her long black curls back up into a sensible ponytail answers her uncle. "He lives a couple of blocks from here, across the street from St. Malachy's on West 49th between Broadway and 8th."

"I know _exactly_ where that is," I inform my companions as I start to lead the way. "My mom used to send me to parochial school there."

Not surprisingly this bit of information earns my ex-wife's scorn. "Somehow the thought of _you_ as a clean cut altar boy sends a cold shiver down my spine."

Unperturbed by the unkind remark, I just shrug my shoulders as I continue to trudge along the busy crowded sidewalks with my hands shoved deep down the pockets of my khaki pants. Purposely, I allow my much taller frame to take extra long strides knowing full well that with her diminutive stature Claire will have to try harder to keep up with me.

Afterward I casually say without even a backwards glance,, "And to think that at one time _you_ use be as sweet and All-American as apple pie. My, how times have changed."

As I start to feel the heat of her loathsome gaze boring a hole in the back of my head, I can't help the vindication I feel. Peter meanwhile just shakes his head in disbelief as I smirk all the way to Parkman's.

lllll

Moments later we find ourselves in a dimly lit corridor standing just outside the door of apartment 8-A, this must be where Matt Parkman and his family currently reside.

The tension we were feeling at Pinehearst is suddenly back with a vengeance. And it begins to mount as does the uncertainty of our purpose here. As each anxious minute flits by, it's dreadfully apparent that we're not quite sure which one of us should knock on Parkman's door thus announcing our unexpected arrival.

It's no secret that each of us has wronged the telepath at one time or another. Furthermore, it's a cold hard fact that our unanticipated presence will not be welcome here. We're intruding on hostile territory that much is certain. And once that door opens anything can happen…so we'll need to keep our guard up.

After a few more seconds of vacillation, it's Claire that finally musters up the courage to do what must be done. While Peter and I hang back, we watch with shared apprehension as she decisively raps her knuckles on the hardwood surface and waits for one of the occupants to answer her insistent knocking.

In the next instant the door flies open only to reveal someone I haven't seen in a long, long time.

lllll

She was a mere child of roughly 9 or 10 when I last saw her. I had abducted her, threatened her life and that of Maya Herrera, a woman I had emotionally manipulated, to coerce the girl's foster father, Mohinder Suresh, to give into my demands.

I can still remember her terror-stricken eyes and the way her little body had trembled at the mere sight of me.

Now, those same eyes, ignoring Pete and Claire, zero in to cast an accusatory glare upon me. And under their condemnatory power I'm made to feel ashamed of my past transgressions that were neither driven by the Hunger or my so-called _evolutionary imperative_.

Thanks to an unsolicited inoculation of the Shanti Virus, I had been stripped of my powers. Therefore the culpability for my callousness and greed laid solely with me, with _Gabriel Gray_, not my alter-ego, the disreputable _Sylar_.

Immediately I squeeze my eyelids shut in a pathetic attempt to ward off the severe castigation of her stare. But try as I might, there's no escape from the vivid recollection of the child's blood curdling screams after I had shot that annoying Dominican woman.

Did I even _care_ that once again I'd been the instrument of fear and pain to a child I had already _orphaned_ just a year before? Sadly, I didn't. The only thing that mattered at the time was getting my hands on the antidote that eventually restored my powers.

lllll

Presently, the astounded person standing before us is a far cry from the lost auburn-haired little girl that I remember. Molly Walker, _correction_, Parkman has certainly grown into a true teen-aged beauty. Taller than most girls her age, she amazingly lacks the gangly awkwardness that usually accompanies someone of her stature and age.

On the contrary, there is _nothing_ gauche or timid about this young woman. Wearing a simple black dress, she is poised and confident, exuding a hardened wisdom far beyond her tender years. And with that fiery mane which hangs loosely off her shoulders and straight down her back, she gives off the appearance of some untamed sprite ready to do fierce battle with the forces of evil.

And yet beneath it all, I detect an underlying grief swimming in the glistening depths of her amber eyes even as she bristles with contempt at the sight us. Her hatred filled glower doesn't waver as she yells for her guardian to join her in the doorway.

"Dad, you better come over here!" she yells over shoulder.

In next to no time I hear what I presume to be Parkman's voice shouting back from somewhere inside the tiny dwelling with exasperation, "Not now Molly. I'm trying to get your sister to stop crying so tell whoever is at the door that we don't want any!"

Sure enough we all hear the familiar wailing of an infant followed by the shushing sounds of a frustrated and overwrought parent trying their best to placate the child.

Molly meanwhile places her hands on either side of the door's frame in an ill-advised attempt to ineffectively to block the entrance to her home.

Scoffing at the teenager's show defiance Claire warns her, "Little girl, it's going to take a lot more than that to keep us from talking to Matt."

Indifferent to the older woman's implied hostility, Molly holds her ground as she grinds out between clenched teeth, "You better get out of here before I call the cops!"

Squaring her shoulders, Claire takes a couple of steps forward readdressing her young opponent in a threatening manner, "The cops, _seriously_? I'm Homeland Security, sweetheart. And I got a shiny badge that says _I_ call the shots, not them.

So I think you better _move_ your skinny ass from the door before I move it for you."

Refusing to back down from the challenge Molly's grip on the frame tightens as she boldly leans forward and says with a rebellious sneer, "Bring it, _bitch!_"

Claire takes the admonishment as an open invitation to mayhem. And in a blink of an eye her hands reach out to try to remove Molly forcibly and with extreme prejudice.

Afraid for the girl's safety I plead to Peter to intervene, "Pete, do _something_."

"Already on it," he replies with a nod.

Anxiously I observe how he gracefully whips his hand out to unleash the invisible fetters of telekinesis. And in no time at all Petrelli manages to freeze Claire in mid-motion, thus preventing her from doing Molly any harm.

The teenager however is still vexed by her adopted father's refusal to come to her aid. And she wastes no time in showing her great displeasure when hollers at him one more time, "You need to come over here right _now_, Matt! It's an emergency."

Matt, obviously put out by Molly's insistence, emits a profound sigh that seems to rattle the walls of the tenement. Before long I hear a rustling sound followed by the distinct reverberation of a series of loud footfalls that could only be made by someone large and heavy.

Soon enough the ex-policeman emerges from one of the bedrooms with the fussy baby in tow. Right away I notice that he's dressed in a dark colored suit and his head is adorned with a black _yarmulke,_ the traditional skullcap worn by observant male Jews in times of prayer or ceremonial occasions.

It doesn't take me long at all to deduce what's happening here. Matt and Molly are clad in clothes of mourning, austere attire designed to be worn for a funereal service.

_Damn it, we're in trouble!_

Sure enough, as soon as Parkman catches sight of us his expression hardens as he yells at his daughter. "Mol, take Daniella and go back in the bedroom!"

When Molly starts to protest he bares his teeth at her and growls, "Do as I say! _NOW! _And don't come out of there until I tell you to!"

With teary eyes the teenager silently obeys her father. Hastily she scoops her baby sister away from her dad and into her arms. She then scurries away to distance herself and her young charge from impending danger.

As soon as we all hear the bedroom door slam shut Matt hastily reaches inside his jacket to retrieve his trusty Glock 28 subcompact pistol. He then raises the weapon aiming it in our general vicinity.

"You have a lot nerve showing your faces around here, _especially_ you Bennet!" he rages at Claire, the hatred he feels for her radiates out of his pores.

Claire, who has since been released from Peter's mental clutches, carefully raises her hands up in what seems like a sign of surrender.

"Easy, Matt," she tries to cajole the former law-enforcement officer. She decides to keep talking, trying to hold Parkman's attention while she surreptitiously slips past the threshold. Peter and I aren't too far behind as we follow Claire's lead.

"Look, all we want is some information. Once we get it we'll leave you and your family alone."

His body quakes with fury as he trains the gun right at Claire. And as he pulls back the slide on the Glock to load a round into the firing chamber he advises her of the following, "Yeah, just like you left my family alone two days ago? I _buried_ my wife, today, Claire! _My wife!_ Daphne's dead because of you, you cold-blooded harpy!"

My eyes immediately dart over to Claire and I'm surprised by her expression of remorse.

"Matt, I'm _so_ sorry about Daphne," she quickly apologizes. Shockingly, Claire almost sounds sincere to me.

"I didn't know what had happened to her after the explosion. But please believe me when I tell you that I didn't mean for her to get hurt. She was my _friend_, Matt. And I cared about her."

"Yeah, I bet you did. The only thing you care about is being the President's lapdog! He says 'go fetch' and you do just that, don't you Claire?" Matt spits out as he curls a trembling finger around the trigger.

I don't need _I.A_. to tell me that we've only got precious seconds before a bloodbath ensues. I glance nervously over at Peter who by now has arrived to the same foregone conclusion.

Wisely, Pete and I allow Claire to keep the focus on her. Besides she's the one that's been trained for these kinds of situations, therefore the best equipped to talk Matt down.

Meanwhile, Petrelli and I try not to draw too much attention to ourselves in the hopes that we can somehow create a diversion and disarm the distraught telepath.

"Listen, Matt," Claire tries again to appeal to his better senses, "The world is in danger and we need your help to save it."

Parkman, unmoved by Claire's plea, only shakes his head with antipathy. "It's always _something_ with you, isn't it? Five years ago we had to save _you_ to save the world. And I almost lost my life because of it!

And now after all this time, you come here to my home with a fucking _serial killer_ and a _terrorist _to ask for my help again? After what _you_ did? I don't think so."

Matt then raises his weapon and readies himself to fire. In that split second I look over to Claire and our eyes lock on one another. And for that brief moment in time I suddenly catch a glimpse of all the memories of the girl I used to love (that I _still love_) reflected in those eyes of green_._

_T__he first time we made love…our wedding day…the first dance we ever shared…the day our son was born…the day she broke my heart. _

I see it all, every vivid recollection with perfect clarity. And I know now what I have to do.

The next few seconds go by with shuttered alacrity-every action is captured, frame by frame, disallowing any leeway to prevent me from doing the unthinkable.

As expected, Matt closes both hands around his weapon and then fires the gun. Claire, meanwhile, is only a given fragments of a second to brace for the impact of the bullet.

Peter's yelling out, "_Nooooooooooo_!"

And true to form, he's already got a hand up in the air. No doubt he'll to try to stop or change the trajectory of the shot before it hits Claire full in the chest.

But I'm faster than Peter for once. And without a moment's hesitation, I throw myself in front of my ex-wife, using my body to shield her from Parkman's bullet. Claire is clearly alarmed by my self-sacrifice as I see those emerald eyes grow wide with shock.

lllll

"Oh my God, Gabriel," she whispers fearfully as she immediately moves toward me.

But it's too late. The projectile has already pierced through the many layers of flesh and bone as the force of the impact swiftly drops me to my knees. Claire goes down with me as she awkwardly catches me in her arms. As my chest blooms with pain I suddenly find it hard to breathe.

I try to speak but I'm prevented from uttering a single word when I taste the metallic tang of my own blood flooding my mouth. Somehow, I know that the bullet has lodged itself in one of my lungs making respiration next to impossible.

"Hush, don't try to talk," Claire's wobbly voice instructs me as she lays me down on the hardwood floor. Her hands shake but they work quickly to rip open my blood-stained sweater vest followed by the plaid button-down shirt.

"Peter, take care of Parkman!" she abruptly commands her uncle as she examines the extent of my injury. Next she places her hands over the exit wound to stave off the flow of blood.

"Two steps ahead of you, Claire," I hear Pete answer back.

Slowly I turn my head. My vision is gradually fading. But I can still make out the image of an incensed Matt Parkman pinned to the wall like a big fat butterfly in a display case. Pete must have slapped him up there after the gun went off.

"How bad is it?" I hear him ask my own personal Florence Nightingale.

Claire grouses as she continues to try to alleviate my discomfort, "Bad enough. It looks like the bullet punctured the left lung. Jesus, there's so much blood and he's going to drown in it if I don't do something!"

Well, she's confirmed it -I'm dying. Yet despite this grim prognosis my heart swells with love for the woman hovering above me.

_She does still care for me.__ Look at her trying to save me when she knows in her heart that I'm a goner. _

If she fights this fiercely to try to keep me alive God only knows what lengths she'll go to get Noah back.

There's only one thing left to say and then I'll let go.

"_Claire_," I try to articulate with a strangled gurgle. I want to touch her face so badly, to feel her skin just one more time. Carefully I lift a limp hand to place it on the curve of her cheek. I almost draw back, surprised by the moisture flowing freely down her face.

"Shut up, Sylar," Claire chides me as she to tries to maintain a brave front for my sake. "Didn't I tell you not to talk?"

It's true, she did. But I'm going to be a hard-headed bastard right to the end.

"S-s-save Noah, can you d-do that for me, baby doll?" I feel a deathly chill just then as my body starts to quiver in its last death throes.

The second she hears her old pet name, Claire cradles my head in her lap. She begins to sob openly while her fingers tenderly run through my hair just like she used to do when we were married.

"Don't you dare die on me you _stupid_ son-of-a-bitch!" she commands in between sobs. "Not now! You're _Sylar_, and Sylar always lives to fight another day!"

"N-not this time, b-baby," I try to whisper to her until I'm attacked by a hacking cough that slashes through my lungs and throat.

Angered by my admission of defeat she seethes through her tears, "Fuck you! If you think I'm going to allow you to take away _my_ right to put a bullet between your eyes, well then think again, asshole. _Nobody_ gets to kill you but me!"

In a direct affront to the harshness of her words, she gently rests my head on the floor. She then turns her glare toward Parkman who is still immobilized against the wall.

"You, _Doughnut-Boy,_ where are your syringes?" she quickly asks the beleaguered widower.

In spite of his current predicament Matt chooses to remain uncooperative. "I don't know what you're talking about," he claims with a livid grimace.

In one fluid motion Claire pulls out her .38 from the back of her pants as she rises to her feet. Armed and ready, she expertly cocks the gun and then points the barrel right at Parkman's vulnerable groin area.

"You've got until the count of three to tell me where you keep your syringes, Parkman. Daphne told me you're a diabetic and that you have to inject yourself with insulin everyday.

Guess you couldn't lay off those crullers, huh? Now tell me where they are before I turn you from a _mister to a sister_."

"Claire, _don't_…" Peter begs as he keeps his hold on Matt.

"Stay out of this, Peter!" she growls. "Gabriel's _dying_ because of this prick."

"One…" she starts to count down.

"Fuck you, you bitch! Go ahead and do it. You're just like your fucking father, aren't you?" Matt cries out.

Unfazed by his poor use of reverse psychology, Claire coldly continues with the backward count, "Two…"

Just then I hear the high-pitched squeal of a young girl's voice slicing through the tension filled air. "_Wait, wait please don't shoot!"_

Molly's back and judging from the sour look on foster dad's puss, he none too pleased to see her.

"Young lady, you are so _grounded_! Didn't I tell you not to come out here?"

Ignoring both her guardian's severe reprimand and the gun aimed at his nether regions, Molly quickly walks over Claire to roughly shove a box of insulin syringes with the micro-fine needles at her.

"Here," the teenager glowers. "I hope you _choke_ on them."

I really have to give Molly credit- the girl's got guts. Not too bad in the brains department either. In those two respects she reminds me a lot of Claire.

"You'd better listen to daddy and get back in that room, Molly," my ex maliciously warns the girl.

Molly says nothing in return. She doesn't have to since that angry scowl she's wearing speaks volumes for her. But as the young woman starts to stomp her way toward the master suite, Claire suddenly calls out, "Hey, kid…_thanks_."

Upon hearing Claire's words of gratitude, the human GPS momentarily halts mid-stride but remains silent. She then resumes her trek until she disappears into the dark recesses of the hallway that leads to her waiting sanctuary.

Claire meantime has already put away her weapon with one hand while the other has fished out a lone syringe from the 100 count box which now lays discarded on the floor.

I watch with vested interest as she lowers herself onto her knees while shrugging the black leather jacket off her shoulders. Next she uses her blunt teeth to tear open the sterile wrapping of the empty hypodermic. Afterward she flips off the plastic stopper with her thumb. Wearing an expression of grim determination Claire then holds out her arm, finds a good vein and deeply plunges the needle in.

Having done this maneuver a thousand of times before, it doesn't take her long at all to extract the right amount of the miraculous elixir that is her blood. As she removes the syringe from her punctured blood vessel, a gasp slips past my blood stained lips as I witness the tiny wound close itself up. Even as I lay dying I'm still fascinated by that wonderful ability.

However, I don't have long to muse about Claire's genetic attributes when I feel the sharp sting of the needle being stabbed directly into the bullet wound. Wincing in pain, my back arches. Meanwhile a resolute Claire presses her thumb down on the hypo's plunger, injecting every drop her curative blood into my body.

As I grow colder still and my field of vision dims, Claire takes out the syringe, leans back on her haunches and waits…

lllll

Moments later I barely hear the sound of a muffled yet anguished cry, _"Nothing's happening_!"

"No, wait. Look Claire…the wound is closing up! Holy shit! It's working, _it's working_!" Peter's elation is so great, it's like he's just won the Power-Ball Jackpot or something.

But he's right- the healing properties in Claire's blood start to work their magic as I feel myself being pulled back from the brink of death. Skin re-knits itself as the shattered bone fragments of my ribs fuse back together. Gradually my strength and vitality return to me as does my sense of sight. Meanwhile, my punctured lung re-inflates with precious sweet oxygen. I inhale deeply until I'm plagued with a sudden coughing fit. There's no cause for alarm though since I know my body is still fighting to expel the metal obstruction currently making its way up through my esophagus.

Very soon the bullet is exorcized from of my mouth with one final earsplitting wheeze from my windpipe only to land on the floor with a bloody plunk.

But just as I'm about express my gratitude, I'm unexpectedly besieged by sharp muscular contractions all over my body. My eyes roll into the back of my head as the rhythmic flexing and relaxing makes me cry out in agony. I can feel my heartbeat accelerate as I continue to ride out whatever the hell this malady is.

Confused and disoriented, I don't understand what's happening me-it's as if I'm being electrocuted. Strangely, I'm nowhere near a source of high-voltage. And the only person I know that can generate this much juice is now six-feet under.

_I should know because I put her there._

As the unexplained convulsions continue to violently whip through my body, I hear Peter yelling, "Oh, shit, he's _seizing_. Quick, shove something into his mouth before he bites off his tongue!"

Seconds later I feel something soft and pliable being thrust into my mouth. I don't know what it is…and I don't care. The only thing I want to do is sink my teeth in to stop myself from screaming.

Before long though, the bodily tremors slowly begin to subside. And as the world gradually comes back into focus that's when I realize that Claire's forearm is still between my teeth.

I offer up a muffled apology, "Sorry."

Peeved at my using her as a chew toy, Claire wrenches her arm away to allow the bite-marks to heal.

"What in the hell was that?" she asks, her eyes darken with suspicion.

"It looked like a grand mal from where I'm standing," Peter chimed in worriedly.

"I don't know," I say simply.

Whatever happened...it's left me feeling peculiarly whole again and more like myself than I've been in a long time. Eventually a great sense of relief starts to take over.

And then that's when I sense _it_- that familiar pulse, the reassuring surge of power thrumming through every part of my being. I turn to Claire grinning from ear to ear.

When she sees my manic blood-stained smile, she warily asks me, "H-how do you feel?"

Suddenly, I sit up lifting my left arm in the process. And as Parkman, Pete and Claire curiously look on I aim my outstretched hand toward the cluttered kitchen table which had been set up to feed family and friends of the bereaved. Amongst the array of cold-cuts, unopened soda pop cans and other luncheon items, I spy a full bottle of _Heinz _ketchup that's just calling my name.

Then with just a thought followed by a twitch of my fingers, I will the red-colored condiment to fly across the room into my grasp.

All three witnesses to my show of restored power are rendered speechless. I then turn to my ex-wife and confidently declare, "How do I feel, Claire? _I feel like I can take on the world_!"

_TBC…._

A/N: Okay, there it is chapter 14! When I started writing this I had a whole other direction I was taking this, especially the confrontation with Parkman. However, my impish muse had other ideas. And well this is the result.

I know some of you naysayers may like not the way I wrote Molly. But let's remember people that it is 4 years later. Furthermore, when IABD was filmed the actress that played Molly was still technically 10 years-old in real-life even though her character had aged. That didn't make sense to me. In my opinion, if the writers and producers were smart, they would have hired an older actress to play teen-aged Molly.

Anyway…enough with my grumblings about the show. Did you like this chapter, did you hate it? Please let me know by clicking that little button below.


End file.
